Harry Potter and the Dark Lord
by Erised Burning
Summary: Harry gets drawn into a whirlwind adventure that leads him on a dogged pursuit of the horcruxes. Meanwhile, Ron and Hermione find themselves entangled in a bitter war against Voldemort and his forces.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Harry Potter. There may be elements from other published works that have made their way in here. I don't own any of those, either.

Harry Potter and the Dark Lord

Chapter 1: Harry's Detour

June 30 was looking to be a really hot day. The sun seemed to shoot up past the rows of identical looking houses at an alarming speed, and beam down on Privet Drive with such a terrible ferocity that the tires on Vernon Dursley's polished mint-green Mercedes seemed to ooze viscous rubber as he parked it on his driveway. Normally, he would park it in the garage, but as he had just had his car cleaned by a professional car-washing company and not just by his good-for-nothing nephew, he felt it deserved to be shown off a bit to the neighbours, who would no doubt look upon its immaculate visage with awe, respect, hopefully a bit of envy, and if he were lucky, fear. After all cleanliness was Godliness.

Vernon entered his house through the front door, slipping off his dark grey suit jacket and calling out to his wife in search of his pre-dinner cocktail. When she did not answer, he felt a twinge of irritation at having his routine interrupted, especially when things had been going so fine for the last eight months - since Harry's departure the previous July. And now, with the boy being back only two days, something was amiss. Vernon made his way to the kitchen, his eyes peeled for any signs of trouble. As it turned out, there didn't seem to be anything wrong however, and when he opened the kitchen door, he found his darling wife, Petunia merely sitting at the dinner table, her gaze transfixed by the small television in the corner. Uncle Vernon barely registered the expression on his wife's face, which, if he had any decent command of the English language, would have described as some incomprehensible mixture of horror, fear, confusion, revelation, wonder, disgust, thoughtfulness and, oddly enough, nostalgia, all of which was congealed into something that could only be described as stern. However, his gaze fell on the television, instead, and what he saw there was something so utterly baffling that his ire merely rose from faint irritation to hostility. And so with that frame of mind, he asked, "Where's that boy? I want to talk to him!"

Petunia jerked up from the television, startled as if she had only realized Vernon was there at that moment. "Yes, Vernon?"

"The boy! The boy! Where is he? Has he done any house chores today? Not nearly enough, I know. Let me at him."

Petunia turned back to the television and said, "He's not here. I sent him from the house."

Vernon was partly-shocked by the fact the boy wasn't there, but more so by the singular focus that the television was drawing from his wife. "And what is so enchanting about some silly fireworks display that clearly went wrong? Was it the building? Who died?"

"Hmm?" she asked. "Oh yes, the fireworks, yes that must be it. They're fireworks. And yes, it must have just been a silly prank and... yes, yes the palace just burned down by accident."

"Palace?"

"Yes," Petunia answered. "Buckingham Palace. It's been destroyed. The queen is dead." On the television, the ruins of the entire palace was visible and high in the sky was the largest vision of the Dark Mark that had ever been discharged into the air. So large was it, that any wizard worth his weight in salt would know that only one wizard left on the planet had the power to launch such a spell.

Harry stood bathed in the light of the setting sun, his black hair mussed, his second-hand t-shirt blowing breezily in the wind, his feet planted as firmly as feet could be planted on the soft sand of the Little Whinging play park. His glittering green eyes shone like jeweled moonlight, one thumb hooked in the pocket of his jeans, the other idly holding his wand. His gaze was bent westward, towards the Atlantic Ocean, towards that deep rich golden amber, towards London and the cliffs of Dover and, of course, to Godric's Hollow.

It had taken him only one step across the threshold of the house he had been forced to call home to realize that it didn't matter whether he was seventeen or not. Privet Drive was not his home; it never was, and he cared nothing for its inhabitants. He had thought at one time that he loved them, when he was very young, and later he had decided he hated them. Those feelings had all been true once upon a time, but no longer. Now, he was indifferent. They meant nothing to him, and that feeling of apathy towards the Dursleys gave him something he never thought it would. It gave him freedom. His heart was soaring with knowledge and naiveté walking hand in hand, like sunshine blossoming out of a lake of blood.

Harry was knocked clean out of his trance by something big and black. He went sprawling onto the ground, his wand flung from his fingers, and before he knew it, his face was thrust into the sand so that he was forced to inhale it as he gasped for breath. He managed to choke out nostrils full of the foul grit, and reel black from the monstrous form of a giant dog. It barked once, causing Harry to flinch a second time, and then bounded at him again, this time, knocking his glasses off and, drooling all over his face from its lolling red tongue.

"Shroomfsy!" a woman called from somewhere deep within the sunlight that now assaulted Harry's eyes. Shroomfsy, get over here!"

The dog seemed to look meaningfully at Harry, and he couldn't help but say aloud, "Sirius?"

The dog bounded away as if disappointed by Harry's question and instead went to go stand alongside his master, a tall blonde-haired woman dressed up in a non-descript, grey jogger's outfit.

"Sorry about that," she said, panting breathily. "She likes people and there aren't that many out this evening. On account of the heat, I imagine." She came forward and lent out a hand, which Harry looked at with a sense of confusion. Not that he would have understood it at the time, but Privet Drive was too mixed up with feelings of isolation and sorrow and ostracization that human contact even at a verbal level came to Harry only haltingly.

Seeming undeterred, the strange woman kept her hand out longer than what normally would have been polite, as if suddenly daring Harry not to take it. Eventually, he did, and got to his feet, brushing off bits of sand that, if he tracked into the house, would drive his ant wild. he briefly considered doing a quick cleaning charm on himself. He had started to wonder in the last few days whether it really mattered. The Ministry was so desperate to make a friend out of him, they probably would welcome the chance to pander to such a menial request as letting him do magic. Still, he had only one month left and it seemed to be a bit wanton to not remain cautious.

These thoughts were flung out of his head however, when he realized that the woman was actually talking to him above and beyond the simple pleasantries that he was accustomed to navigating on auto-pilot. Seven years of fame had taught him how to smile and nod in the right places with only the barest of attention.

"Oy, I said are you on a diet?"

"Hmm?" Harry asked, blinking and suddenly realizing he had lost his glasses somewhere. "Oh, yes, I mean no. I'm not."

She shrugged. "Looks like you need to get out and pick up a few new clothes."

"Oh, right," Harry glanced down at his shirt and trousers. He had filled out a little bit in the last year and they didn't look quite so bad, but it was clear that the size was just plain wrong. Where's my wand, Harry thought dimly, and then, as if on cue, they both spotted it together. The woman was bending down and picking it up.

"This yours?"

Harry nodded and took it from her mutely.

"Anyway, I'm terribly sorry about the intrusion. I'd best be on my way."

The woman took off at a jog, and Harry felt a sudden urge to call back to her, to continue that entirely banal conversation, because banality in a conversation was so foreign to Harry that it actually seemed novel.

"Hey!" he called, not quite sure what he was doing.

"She stopped and turned halfway, glancing partly over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised in a questioning manner.

"My name's Harry."

She said nothing for a moment, Harry wondering if she would just shrug and move on to the rest of her life, but then she smiled a dazzling smile that went all the way up to her ocean blue eyes. She then waved and said, "See you around, Harry."

She then jogged away through the park, her black dog at her side, leaving Harry to wonder what just happened.

He decided not to think about it too much and instead turned his feet back towards the direction of Privet Drive, sighing loudly in the solitude.

Dinner that evening was a rather subdued affair. Dudley was out terrorizing children, thieving or trying to get laid by a rather rotund brunette that lived, as best as Harry could tell, about seven blocks North of number 4 Privet Drive. His uncle seemed resigned to the silence and was compulsively flipping through the morning paper as though he hadn't already read it six times, all the while stealing menacing glances Harry's way, as if to blame him for the quietude. His aunt, peculiarly enough, was the most somber, her thin brows furrowed as if lost in thought. What thought it could be, Harry didn't know. He had never known his aunt to contemplate anything more complex than the symmetry of her rose bushes. What was odd about the whole affair was that Harry actually received a normal sized portion of food, given Dudley's absence, and, since nothing life-threatening was imminent - at least nothing new - he felt like he had the appetite to consume it all. He would go to bed with a full stomach tonight, and that was a plus.

Once tucked away safely in his bedroom, rain starting to fall from the sky, Harry curled up under his covers with a copy of "A Guide to Treasure Hunting: A Wizard's Quest for Magical Artifacts", which he had resigned himself to read, despite the fact that it was written by Gilderoy Lockheart, Harry's profoundly incompetent Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor from second year and now current resident of the insanity ward at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Ailments. It wouldn't have been Harry's first choice on the subject, but, after some searching at Flourish & Blots, Harry had discovered that there was a dearth of material on the subject, and so had resigned himself to taking the book now open in front of him. He had to admit it wasn't all bad. Some of the information seemed downright useful, as long as he was careful to extricate the embellishments and self-aggrandizements that he knew must have been Lockhart's additions to the subject matter.

Harry had even found in an aside, information on using blood magic to provoke charmed objects into moving, and that made Harry think of how Dumbledore had bled on the rocks in the cave not three months ago to admit them passage into the antechamber where they found what they had thought to be Slytherin's locket. Dumbledore seemed to have had disdain for the use of blood, and Harry recollected him calling it crude at one point.

By the time midnight neared, the rain intensifying into hail for a brief period, Harry put the book down, glancing out his window to see if Hedwig were coming. No, she wasn't out there. In all likelihood she had holed up somewhere in the middle of her flight path, or had simply remained at Ron's in anticipation of the storm. Either way, Harry was sure she was safe, being a very intelligent and capable owl. he put his book away, shut off his lamp and bid June 30 adieu.

The days that followed glutenated themselves into the first week of July, wherein Harry puttered up and down the empty summer walkways of the neighbourhood, content to live inside his own head, sending occasional letters to Ron and Hermione. He even sent one to Ginny, who had been his girlfriend towards the end of the previous year, but his writing had been terse and polite and entirely too cruel, as was her response. They both seemed to have accepted the quick demise of their relationship, or perhaps it was simply put in stasis and would be reawakened after Harry did whatever it was that he had to do.

It was on July 10, as rain drizzled down on Magnolia Crescent that Harry caught sight of something twinkling in the gutter, and, with nothing better to do, he walked to the curb's edge and peered down. There was a little sailboat drifting lazily along on the thin stream of water that had collected from the falling water. He knelt down to look at it, surprised to see that something that was made out of paper could refuse to be soaked. Maybe it's magic, he mused, glancing up quickly at the thought to spy offhandedly for any wand waving, robe wearing individuals. There were none. The newspaper sailboat continued to trundle along and Harry, for no reason he could think of, decided to follow it, letting his feet carry him wherever God and the forces of nature took the intrepid ship and her tiny crew.

The clouds waxed and waned as they discharged themselves of their life-force, all the while, the sun tracking across the sky unknown to the world, save for that grey light that washed like a soft wave over all the things in Britain, puddling away the faintest glimmers of shadows in the darkest corners of the streets. Before Harry knew it, he had travelled a good hour at a pace that had steadily increased, with the rain, as the little seafaring voyager gathered more speed with the rising torrents beneath its bow. Harry had entered the main square of the town of Little Whinging, which, despite the fact that he had lived there for the better part of his life, was a foreign labyrinth of roads and alleys. What struck him in particular as he pulled his attention from his guide was the incredible greyness that swamped the downtown. The buildings were a myriad of mottled greys formed from chipped surfaces, cements, concrete and shadows, all patched together to form monoliths and paths that snaked in and out of each other like a criss-crossing web. Occasionally the gloom was cut apart by blades of light from oncoming traffic, but it did little to alleviate the feeling of forebode that seeped from the cracked cement and patched asphalt. When Harry thought about it, the headlights were downright hostile, obeying only the commands of their metal masters, passing over Harry's form like surveying eyes, capable of killing at a moment's notice and moving on. And even worse about the place, which Harry realized as he stopped before a storm drain, was that Little Whinging's downtown was a place of apathy. People here were brisk and cold and disinterested from one another. On Privet Drive, people were at least interested in the affairs of others, even if it were only to spread gossip. Here, Harry felt like he could die and no one would notice, and maybe that was true.

Harry watched the sailboat ebb closer to the sewer opening, which was more of a grate, with large slits instead of the tiny holes that had been the case so far. Like a child caught in the undertow, the sailboat seemed destined to head to its death, or at least get caught in the slits, and have its voyage interrupted. The thought of saving it had flitted across Harry's mind, but he had discounted it almost immediately. No, it was better this way. Things were not supposed to last forever, after all.

The sailboat, as predicted, landed squarely in the middle of the grate, the length of its body settling between two of its bars. Harry continued to watch, fascinated, as the boat slowly began to descend. He peered closely and discovered that the newspaper was absorbing the water like black ink and was slowly turning to mush and sinking into the sewer. He didn't understand why it was that the boat had managed to stay afloat all this time, seemingly impervious to the water and now, was being overcome. Did running keep you alive, little fellow? he wondered.

As the last of his companion drizzled into darkness, Harry turned and resigned himself to return to Privet Drive. As it happened, however, that was not to be. At least not immediately.

Not having walked ten feet, Harry heard the roar of a engine. So deep was it, that Harry's first thought was to reach for his Firebolt and get out of tail's reach of the Hungarian Horntail that was surely approaching. To his consternation, and to his relief, headlights cut through the forming mist over the main road and shone directly at him, growing larger with each second. At first, Harry merely stared, and then, as the round lights continued to expand, he began to feel that something was terribly wrong; a feeling which blossomed into sheer dread that finally culminated in epiphany. The lights were shining directly on him. He was in the jaws of the beast.

Harry threw himself for dear life into an alleyway, not permitting the Hermione-esque part of his mind to revel in the incredulity that accompanies such violent and senseless rule-breaking. he did not have time to care that there was a giant car barreling half on the sidewalk. Harry's seeker instincts saved his life in that singularly profound moment that would change his life forever.

The irony of it is that he wouldn't really know it, nor would he ever meet the passengers of the Buick 8 to ask where or how or why it was that they had come to be driving in the rain on the sidewalk in what seemed to be an impossibly large and intense car. It also wasn't the case that Harry had time to brood on yet another near death situation, because, taking brief stock of the alley, he discovered that he was not alone. Amidst the collection of discarded fast food wrappers, sullied newspapers, cigarette butts and other detritus that had been swept away into the margins of the city lay a figure curled up in a pool of shadow ringed by incandescent light. Harry went to that person, aware from her long hair that she was a woman and aware that she appeared distinctly out of sorts in clean jeans and a blouse and runners. Her body was obscured in darkness by the flap of a dumpster, which occluded light spreading down from a buzzing incandescent bulb. Harry moved the flap so that it closed down on the giant bin and let the light flood over her so that he could see her properly.

She was young, her head turned the other way and pillowed on her arm in a fashion that would have made him think it was natural. Harry knelt next to her and brushed a lock of hair from her cheek, which, to his horror, revealed a deep gash that was crusting over with scar tissue. He exhaled a small breath and proceeded to check her pulse. Was she alive? Yes, he confirmed, letting her wrist go. Harry took a glance around, aware that the sounds of intermittent traffic seemed to have gone away, even though he could still see the occasional flash of light from passing cars. The rain was thicker here, but it didn't seem to pool anywhere, which was odd because there weren't any drains in sight. He briefly debated going to find a hospital, but decided it made more sense to enter one of the establishments and get someone to call for help. Without thinking, he stood and pushed his way through a nearby large, black metal door with the name Bamboo Cabana scrawled across it in faded white chalk.

The first thing that struck him when he entered was the smell of meat and sweat and something coppery and the smell of dead fish. They each hit his nostrils from different sides, one after the other, until he felt overwhelmed, as if he would never be able to use his olfactory sense again. He went forward, calling out, "Hello? Hello, is anyone there?"

However, there didn't seem to be anyone. Five steps took him into a well lit room that was lined with metal shelves, dollies and tables with giant cauldrons - no pots, he thought. giant pots. And pans and fryers and in the distance, muffled music and a thumping bass seeping through the floor. Was he in a kitchen? Yes, he thought so. There was a large sink and next to it, several rags, all stained with something reddish brown. And he could see a meat freezer entrance on the left wall. Well, he thought they're busy dancing so it's not surprised they've shut down the kitchen. He went forward, hoping to find somebody before he hit the dance hall. He suspected that it would be too loud for him to actually explain to any of the management the situation. Maybe if there were a payphone... He steeled himself when he came to the end of a short, thinly carpeted non-descript hall where there was a door that rattled severely with each blast of the music. Harry steeled himself and opened it. The assault of lights and sounds and smells of flailing limbs packed together hit him immediately. Some deep, internal alarm bell rang inside his head, warning him to get away as quickly as possible, but Harry didn't have time to listen as throngs of hands and legs seemed to curl around him and draw him into the fray. There was a distinct set of lights further on, that he suspected was the bar. Harry headed for it immediately, pushing through the crowds, getting frustrated as he was made to take a step back for every three he took forward. Eventually losing patience, he began to drive himself more relentlessly between the people, carving a path with his determination.

The bar was manned by a fellow in his mid-thirties, a network of lines having transformed his face into a look of rough stone. Harry began shouting over the din, "Hey! I need a phone! There's a girl outside who's been hurt!" Even as Harry spoke, he knew his words were being lost. He had never had to shout so hard in his entire life and was unused to the grating feeling on his vocal cords. The man seemed to understand however, and bent down and lifted a glass. he poured Harry a drink with ice cubes and a little stick of celery. Harry scrunched up his face in consternation, thinking about how best to approach the situation. Of all the places to end up, he thought, taking the drink and eyeing it suspiciously. He had never had alcohol before. Did the bartender not realize he was underage? Or maybe he didn't care. For the first time, Harry took a moment to survey the landscape, the size of the building, the number of people, their faces.

It was bigger than he had realized. Where did all these people live? He couldn't imagine they were from Little Whinging. Probably from Surrey and beyond. Maybe this is a happening little place, he thought, and I never knew. That made him think of Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon being in a place like this, and he had to smile. Sipping on his drink, Harry considered bringing his friends here. The pure-bloods would certainly have a laugh. He wondered what Arthur would think.

Just then, Harry had a sudden jolt. He looked down at his glass, nicely chilled. The taste of it was incredibly familiar. Beneath the salt and pepper and whatever spices they had thrown in it, there was something distinctly unique about it. And he was certain there was no alcohol. Alcohol burned, he knew. No, this was something else. Something he couldn't quite place. He then looked up at the faces again of all those people thrusting themselves at one another. They were slowing down. The music was coming to a halt, and Harry thought that was a bit odd, since he was under the impression that music never stopped at these places. He took another sip and stared at them, keening their expressions, their facial features. There was something odd about them too. After a time, it finally hit him. He had seen something in their eyes, in the way they moved. A light, a ghostliness that chilled him. Yes, there was something. What was it? Now they had all virtually stopped, many of them with their faces lifted a little higher as if scanning the horizon. And then it hit him, they were all so very pale, their lips blood-red, their eyes gleaming with something dark and feral. And his drink was metallic like copper. It can't be, he thought, suddenly appalled, a dawning horror creeping to the forefront of his mind. It can't be... But he knew, right then and there, just like he knew that he could drive those little beads back into Voldemort's wands. They were not like the depictions in his DADA textbooks, which featured wizened old hag-like creatures sneering and baring fangs at every chance they got. These were bloody teenagers. Teenagers whose sharp olfactory senses were orienting them towards Harry.

Crap, he thought. You are the biggest, dumbest, sodding human being on the planet. You have a destiny to hunt down the most feared, most powerful wizard left on the planet , and you're drinking blood at a vampire nightclub. Fuck. Ass.

Harry whipped out his wand so fast he could have been the Duke himself, and without thinking, he called memories of love and compassion, of friendship and warmth, of his last night with Ginny before he embarked on his little adventure with Dumbledore to the Riddle boy's special cave. he called them all with such force, seeing his array of enemies, just like third year, when he stared down a hundred dementors. He saw them and pointed his wand, saying, "Expecto patronum," in a soft but intense voice.

A giant stag, the largest one he had ever produced exploded in a shower of sparks from his wand, which seemed to barely be able to contain the force of all his memories flowing through it. The stag shot forward in a dazzling display, blinding all the lights, and, though Harry didn't realize it, disrupting all the electrical equipment, which began to fizzle and melt and finally explode in a shower of sparks and smoke. The vampires shrieked without fully understanding why, except that something intense and large and equine was bounding there way and it looked incredibly determined. Harry didn't stick around to see whether a Patronus did anything to vampires. he bolted fast and hard around the edge of the bar, wondering briefly why the kitchen had been on the opposite side. He bowled through a doorway and careened down a narrow hall lit with fluorescent bulbs, dimly aware that the door he had crashed through had not closed behind him. They were on his tail. He aimed the only spell he could think of behind him, crying out, "Petrificus Totalis!" without missing a beat. he was getting used to casting spells while he ran. There was a cry as people tripped over the paralyzed vampire. Harry would never know if that spell had given him the brief bit of time that saved his life, but he did know that when he made it to the fire exit, claws were mere inches from his skin. "Alohomora!" he cried, the door swinging open and letting him throw himself into the late afternoon light. It was still cloudy, but the rain had passed, though the fire escape on which Harry found himself was still slick with water. Without thinking twice, he hopped over the railing and continued dashing until he reached the main street. When he turned, there was nothing behind him. They hadn't followed, probably because he wasn't worth the effort for getting scalded by the sunlight. He remembered reading that indirect sun wasn't immediately lethal, but it still burned them. Thankful for that reprieve, Harry prepared himself to go home. he figured he should tell someone about this, but when he headed back, he remembered the blonde girl, and realized he had to still go help her.

Harry dashed down the alleyway to the main street, surprise briefly registering across his features at the sight of so many people trundling along the sidewalks. A thirties-style car chugged past at a rate much slower than Harry was used to seeing cars go. He didn't pay much mind to these things, however, because he was focused on that woman who he now assumed was a victim of vampires. At the very least he needed to check to see if she were bitten, not that he knew how, but certainly he would at least be able to help her. He was a wizard, after all.

But upon reaching the alleyway where he had found her, sliding a bit on the slick pavement, he saw to his dismay a tall, gaunt figure wrapped in a long black trench coat, which, if not for the buttons and a lapel, he would have mistaken immediately for wizard's robe. The figure, wearing a black, brimmed hat, and a silver tie, was holding her in his hands, which Harry could tell from the splash of blond hair hanging over one of his arms. He had a door open and was entering, though it was a door to the opposing building. "Hey!" Harry cried out, throwing abandon to the winds. He aimed his wand and shouted, "Stupefy!" A red beam of light arced toward the figure. Though his face was shrouded in shadow, Harry thought he saw his face screw into a scowl or possibly one of surprise. Harry's aim, as true as it was, missed, because the figure demonstrated uncanny speed, sidestepping the blast and disappearing into the doorway, which promptly shut behind him. Harry's spell harmlessly continued down the alley to some unknown destination.

Crap, he thought, miserably, what do I do now? He wasn't all too happy about chasing the mysterious figure into another building. For all he knew, it would be full of zombies or mummies or some other hideous dark creature. Harry wondered briefly if Hagrid thought werewolves were cute and cuddly.

Shrugging that thought off, Harry went after the pair. He was in Gryffindor for a reason. Again, Harry went down the alley, but by the time he got to the doorway, his attention was stolen by the sounds of approaching footsteps. What now, he wondered, turning to face whoever it was that was coming after him. It turned out that it was only one person, and she did indeed manage to steel all his attention. She had incredible honey-blonde hair, milk white skin, rich ruby red lips and Asian eyes. And those eyes, Harry noticed, were the same intense green of his own. Her legs were showing beneath a dusty rose coloured dress that hugged her curves in all too revealing ways, and a white rabbit fur coat was draped casually over her shoulders.

"Well, hello there," she said, in a charming, dulcet voice. "Where are you off to, big fella?"

Big fella? Harry wondered. He had never been called such a thing in his life and for good reason. He was as scrawny as they came. That immediately put him on edge. In particular, because she had the same drawl that Malfoy did and the same Slytherin look about her that made Harry think she was very good at being insincere. But it was getting harder for Harry to think, because she didn't seem to mind violating the borders of personal space and came very close to Harry, so that he could catch the scent of her perfumes - lilac, and the warmth of her body, which in turn made him warm.

Dimly, Harry was aware of the sound of people shouting from the main street, and the smell of something unpleasant, which Harry barely registered in the back of his mind as being burning hair.

"What's a girl like you doing out here?" Harry asked, trying to be forceful. Dammit, man, you have a job to do! There's women in distress. But Harry's body was having none of his heroics at that moment. there was a woman perfectly in distress right in front of him and he was inclined to explore that danger.

"I was out for a stroll, taking a break, you know, and there I saw you come bustling out of one dark corner and into another. I love dark corners, you see and with that most intense look in your eyes-" she paused there, staring up into his eyes, and sighed flutteringly, saying, "you have such lovely eyes. I just wanted to say hello." She stammered in all the right spots, her bosom heaving, her head turning down demurely for just a moment to signal submission.

Just like a snake, Harry thought, and with that he snapped out of it. He needed to find that person, and whoever this was, he had to send her away so he could cast magic. "Listen, um-"

Sensing her control slipping, she put one hand on his arm and sent her gaze sliding over his body, making sure he knew that she was approving, and then her eyes fell on his wand. "Oh my, is that some sort of weapon?" I couldn't help but see you drive that fellow away."

"Um, yes, I mean no," Harry said. "No, it's not a weapon. It's just something that belongs to me."

She smiled dazzlingly and took a tentative step forward. "I have a little place where I like to spend some time. Would you like to come take a walk with me. We could explore it together. You could show me some other things that belong to you."

Harry's mouth was so dry, his tongue was sticking to the roof. He felt as if he had no strength to speak and when she tugged, he felt himself walking with her, his face still looking like that of a rabbit's caught in a pair of headlights.

"Oy! Minnie!" called a burly fellow with too much facial hair for Harry's liking. Muscles bulged from underneath his very tight fitting t-shirt, which read: COME A LITTLE CLOSER AND SAY THAT. Harry thought briefly to himself, Whatever I say to that guy, I will certainly be sure to say from a distance.

"Oh Jack, it's you," Minnie said, with both a tinge of anticipation and of distaste. Harry felt an immediate pang of jealousy for this fellow already seemed to know her intimately. He could tell from their body language that they had learned to interact with one another closely.

"Who's this?" he asked, his voice taking on a very dangerous edge. It made Harry feel nervous, and he was extremely thankful that he had his wand in his hand. In some dark, highly intelligent part of his mind, he knew, without thinking about it, that it was a good thing he had been attacked by vampires too. The adrenalin in his veins was keeping him highly alert and able. He would not be caught unawares, and was able to expect anything - even magical things.

"Dunno," Minnie said, shrugging, "but he's a cutie."

Harry groaned inwardly. Is it too much to ask that I be permitted to survive? he wondered.

"A what?" the hulk asked, his voice turning into more of a growl. Harry tensed even further.

"You heard me, Jack," she said. "He's so... unruffled. And... petite."

Both men stood stock still for very different reasons. Jack, Harry dimly saw, had narrowed his eyes and was appraising Harry acutely. Harry, on the other hand, was still processing what this incredibly beautiful woman, who was everything that he could have wanted in a woman, as far as her body was concerned, had said about him. Cute? Okay, he was cool with that. Guys can be cute, he reasoned. Cute and masculine. Unruffled? Maybe. Certainly Harry didn't regard himself as unruffled, but he admitted he could have looked that way, his scars were all internal. Cute and unruffled... well, he could still retain his masculinity with those adjectives. But petite? That was just uncalled for. "Now hold on a second," Harry began, but his apparently petite voice was drowned out by the roar of Jack, who, to Harry's astonishment, punched the wall, leaving shattered bricks in his wake. His raging black eyes then fixated on Harry, who took a nervous step back. "Now, listen here," he began, trying and failing to keep his voice steady, "I didn't touch her. We're just friends. I'm sure we could work out something."

"AARGHH!" he bellowed. "BURNING'S TOO GOOD FOR YOU! HANGING'S TOO GOOD FOR YOU! I'm going to rip you into ITTY BITTY pieces and bury you alive!"

Damn, Harry thought, that doesn't sound good. Jack pounced, but, Harry, with his lightning reflexes, discharged a well-aimed stunner that struck Jack right in the torso, causing him to look down in disbelief. And then, to Harry's horror, he looked up and grinned. The Stunning Curse had struck home all right, evidenced by a large purple welt that was forming on Jack's chest. Unfortunately, that was the extent of his impairment.

"That's a mean taser, you got there kid, but it ain't goan' work on me." Jack bared his teeth again. Harry pursed his lips in concentration.

"Petrificus tot-" but Jack was too fast, and lifted Harry clean into the air by his throat with one hand, so that Harry was struggling to breathe. "And now I'm gonna ruffle you up a bit, eh? So you ain't so, how should I put this..." Jack seemed to think about this a moment, as if in religious prayer and then, lighting on the solution, brought from God no doubt, continued, "So you ain't so cute no more."

Harry heard Minnie cajoling big old Jack, her "muffin man" to let Harry go so she and Harry could go have a tryst together in one of the backrooms of the Red Cherry, which was a seedy bar across the street, apparently.

Harry put both his hands on Jack's massive forearm, struggling petitely, as it were, to replenish oxygen to his lungs. He wheezed out, "Please," as if that was going to help him fend off Jack.

"Jack!" another man called, this one named Stu, apparently, as Jack responded in an even, mildly friendly tone. "We got problems. Hey, whatcha doing here?" Stu stopped next to Jack and stared at Harry as if he were a still-life portrait, soon to be a still-dead one.

"This bloke I caught with Minnie," said Jack.

Stu scrutinized Harry for a moment. "You gonna kill him?" The matter-of-factness in Stu's tone made Harry's now oxygen-deprived brain lose what hope he had managed to hold on to.

"That was the plan."

"Seems a bit of a waste, don't you think?"

"What do you mean?"

"We could use a runt like this in the club. You know, cleaning out the backrooms and stuff. Maybe even serving drinks."

"Can't trust him," said Jack, shaking his head.

"Come on, Jack. You know Minnie wouldn't bother with a squirt like him. Not seriously. You're letting her wind you up, and that ain't' cool. Can't let them think they have all the control you know."

"It ain't like that. He came on to her."

"You're so whipped, my friend," Stu slapped Jack jovially on the back.

Jack grunted at this last jibe and decided, reluctantly, to permit Harry to live. Harry proceeded to wheeze and cough and slide to the alleyway floor in a tangle of oversized clothes, under which he nearly disappeared. When he finally recovered enough to know he wasn't going to die, he tried to stand, only to discover his legs hadn't quite caught up with his head. Harry buckled and fell back onto his haunches, his vision still screwed into patches of fuzzy grey and dark light. He felt strong hands on his shoulders, lifting him up, and blearily, he thought Jack had had a change of heart and decided to finish him off, no thanks to Minnie, of course. But it was Stu, who, to Harry's surprise, was wearing an expression of mild concern. "Wasn't sure if I was gonna be able to save you there, kid."

Um, thanks," Harry said feebly, his voice not having regained its full strength.

"You'd best try to keep a low profile around these parts. Don't know how you got in here in the first place, but however you did it, you should probably go back."

"Excuse me?" Harry asked. "What place is that? The alley?"

Stu looked around. "You don't know?"

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "I met this flock of-" he was about to say vampires, but thought better of it "-not so nice people, and they ran me through a building. Actually, it all started with a girl-"

Harry was cut short by Jack's booming voice. "Stu, you comin' or what?"

"Be there in a minute Jack," he called back, and then turned to Harry. "Listen, maybe you'd best come with me and take a break. I can set you up in one of the backrooms and you can have a lie down. Then we'll see about this flock of not so nice people and getting you home."

Harry didn't fully understand this kind of talk. Was Stu a drug addict? He had never met one before, so he couldn't appraise Stu properly in this regard, but Harry had heard his uncle talk enough times about them to know they were monsters that had acid for blood and sucked your souls. Not that Harry listened to his uncle on anything, but when you don't have your own reference point, it comes barreling into your mind anyway, as Harry knew rather well, living in two worlds and managing to be ignorant of both.

Harry let Stu guide him back to the main street and then across it. Harry now had time to take in his surroundings, which caused him to jerk out of Stu's grasp in pure, unadulterated shock. "Stu," Harry began, taking the sight in with his eyes and trying to process. "Stu, this-"

"Shh, kid, it ain't polite to stare." Stu ushered Harry onward.

The dreary downtown scene that Harry had walked along when following his little sailboat, which seemed strangely far away now, was gone. Replacing it was a screaming torrent of colours. The clouds that he had thought were grey were actually pale pinks and yellows and blues that only revealed themselves to be flashing neon when you looked directly at them. And the cars that were going by were all from the 1930's, having distinctly boxy and ornate looks that Harry had only seen cars have in old TV shows. And the people, they looked different somehow, though Harry couldn't quite place his fingers on it. At first, he wondered if they were all vampires, but that didn't seem right. They were walking around in the sun and not trying to eat him. Many of them did wear hats, however, and not baseball hats, but non-descript full-brimmed ones. All of them had their hands in their pockets, and Harry wondered if they were holding onto weapons just in case of an attack.

That brought Harry's mind full-circle, and he jerked out of Stu's hand again. "Hey, kid, we ain't gonna make it anywhere at this rate."

"I forgot something in the alleyway!" Harry said quickly. "I'll be back in a sec. I promise."

Stu looked dubious, but he also looked like he didn't have that much invested in the issue. "I'll wait a few minutes and if you've run off, well, I'll have just washed my hands of you then."

Harry nodded, "I'll be back right away." He bolted from Stu at top speed, wondering if his wand were still intact. He hadn't seen where it landed after Jack had started throttling him. To his immense relief, his wand was still there. He picked it up and held it reverently for a moment, letting that warm vibration course through him - that feeling of an electric pulse that told him he was a wizard. Harry considered ditching Stu and going in after the blonde, but, after a moment's hesitation, decided going with Stu was the smarter choice. He was a Gryffindor, but even he understood that discretion, sometimes, was the better part of valour.

"You really did come back," Stu mused. "Thought for sure you were just pulling my leg."

"No, sir," Harry said. "Really did drop something."

Stu nodded and then started walking. "As long as it was important."

"Very much so," Harry affirmed.

Stu chuckled. "Good to know kids these days still got priorities."

The Red Cherry was a rainbow coloured building that was trapezoidal in shape. Harry remembered seeing a Bank of England sign on that same building when he had been passing in what he was starting to think of as the "real" world. As he entered through an ornate main door into a dimly lit, posh looking lounge, he felt an electric tingle, run through him just briefly, as though there were a barrier that coincided with the threshold. He looked up at Stu quizzically to see if he would either comment on it or if his posture indicated that something were unusual. He received no acknowledgements on either front, and decided to focus on his surroundings. He had expected to see another dance club and had been pleasantly surprised that this place was not of that variety. There were a number of squashy leather sofas to one side, where people sat and chatted and drank from glasses that he guessed were supposed to hold expensive liquors. Along the far right wall were two bright sources of overhead lamps that shone down on pool tables. They were the most brightly lit part of the whole place. The second draw to the eyes was the bar, which was richly ornate and which shined of crystals, gleaming glasses hanging upside down, innumerable bottles of all manner of liquids and a deep, reddish brown oak countertop. The next thing Harry noticed was the young woman sitting at the bar, sipping some amber liquid and looking into space, obviously lost in her own world. Her hair was honey blonde, her skin soft, her form slender and accentuated by slim fitting clothing. He could see her feet dangling from the bar stool idly.

Before Harry could continue staring, however, Stu had dragged him into one of the backrooms. The initial smell of the place had been of tobacco and leather, but now, in the backroom, Harry was assaulted by the smell of dried urine.

Seeing that Harry was wrinkling his nose, Stu hastened to apologize. "There was nothing else really available. They're all, er, occupied and so, well, beggars can't be choosy, right?" Stu smiled and then said, "I'll be back in a bit. Why don't you settle down and perhaps try and take a nap. It might help calm your nerves. We have much to talk about, you and I.'

Harry nodded. "Sure, okay, thanks."

Stu left Harry to his own devices. He wasn't sure if he was prepared to touch the bed, though it looked clean enough. It was at least made. The room was otherwise bare except for a night table, which proved to be empty save for a pen and a pad of paper. If Harry had been more observant, he would have noticed that the telephone and address information listed on the header of each page of the paper was screwy, but as he was actually rather fatigued from his magical exertions, the adrenalin having departed from his system, he decided to throw caution to the winds and crawl onto the soft, microfibre double bed. Any illusions of sleeping, however, were shattered, because, not two minutes after Harry got comfortable, the faint sounds of moaning and beds creaking and soon thumping and raucous screaming could be heard through the thin wood walls..

"Oh Jack!" a distinctly familiar female voice cried, in her uniquely dulcet drawl.

"Baby, baby, baby..." groaned an all too familiar male baritone. "You're killing me, oh, baby! Yeah."

"Yeah, harder, oh god, oh god, Jack, fuck, fuck fuck, fuck..."

Harry buried his head under his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut as if it could block out the images that the sounds were bringing to life in his mind. Most of all, and to his dark shame, he wished he were the one taking Minnie to the heights of ecstasy as she was proclaiming that Jack was doing.

"... oh, Jack, you're taking me to the heights of ecstasy. The heights of fucking, ecstasy. Oh-"

There was the distinct groan of two people climaxing in unison. And, when Harry thought they must have all been spent, he heard Minnie say, "Oh, tell me you're ready again, baby." And so, Harry proceeded to search for an object with which to puncture his tympanic membranes and end his misery.

So much was his mounting frustration, that he didn't hear the door creak open, and so much was his head under the pillow and eyes squeezed shut, that he didn't see the figure approach to the side of his bed. His sense of touch, however, was still functioning, so when this stranger sat down on the bed, he felt the shift in its shape.

""My," a woman said, her voice soft and curious and youthful. "Are you trying to suffocate yourself? I could maybe help by getting you a plastic bag."

"I would settle for earplugs," Harry said, his voice coming through muffled as he spoke into the bed.

"Hmm," said the woman, I'm afraid I can't help you there."

"Harry through the pillow off and looked up at the soft, lineless face of the young woman who had been sitting at the bar. "Hi," Harry said, staring up at her face. She was lovely, he knew. Not drop dead gorgeous like Minnie, but soft and so expressive were her dark eyes that Harry felt enthralled. And this time, he did not feel like a rabbit caught in headlights; he felt happy to be drinking in her features; again those eyes were captivating. She wore an unobtrusive gold chain around her neck. There was something mature and yet young and innocent about her; and Harry knew she was not the type of girl to fawn over just anyone or to throw herself at a man's will for good sex. At the same time, she was sleek and feline and had a body that aroused him just fine.

"Hi yourself," she said.

"Er," Harry began, feeling as though he should say something, anything, preferably a witty or charming comment. Instead he managed to stammer a bit, gurgle even and then add, as an afterthought, "I'm lost."

She smiled knowingly and suddenly her eyes lost whatever small bit of happiness twinkled within them and she took on a slightly sad expression. It was the one he had seen on her previously, when she had been sitting at the bar. He had thought she was just spaced out, but now, upon closer inspection, there was something there - a pain, a persistent memory that haunted her. Harry felt an instinctive push to take her in his arms and hold her, to tell her everything was going to be all right, but he was rational enough not to try and molest a strange woman on an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar world. Instead, he sat up, puffing out his pillow to use it as a backrest. "So do you come here often?" he asked, deciding to start small and work his way up to the big stuff.

She shrugged. "I have friends in the neighbourhood." She let out a little laugh at this, as though sharing some internal joke that Harry was not part of. "I come here and drink once in awhile, yes."

"Do you know Stu?"

She nodded. "He's a friend of mine."

"and Jack?"

"Acquaintances," she murmured.

Harry nodded, suddenly very much out of conversation topics. I could ask her what her favourite colour is, he thought, or maybe her name. Yes, her name. That's a good one.

"It's Kittie," she answered, reading his mind.

Harry tensed, having been reminded again that he was not in Kansas anymore. "Did you read my mind?"

Kittie looked surprised. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, that sadness creeping to the forefront of her expression. "I - I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"Harry had been about to chastise her for it, but now, seeing her berate herself, all he wanted to do was apologize. "It's okay," he said. "I just, I don't like people being in my head. Do you mind?"

"No, I won't. I'm sorry, er, Harry, it just comes out sometimes. Sometimes people radiate their thoughts and I can't help it. I just feel them, and it's so natural, these days. And with you especially."

Me especially? he wondered.

"Yes, you-" she said, then stopping, tensing herself. "Oh, I'm sorry. I did it again. I'm really sorry, Harry."

"S'okay," he assured her. "Maybe I don't mind that much. As long as I can trust you." did I really just ask her if I can trust her? he thought.

"Of course you can trust me, Harry," she said softly. "When you first stepped into the joint, I felt you. You were radiating something I had never come across before. You were like a beacon. I'm not surprised Minnie went after you. You're just spilling psychic pheromones all over the place."

"You know about that?" Harry asked.

Kittie nodded. "I could tell from the way Jack stormed in. I assume Stu saved your life."

Harry nodded. "Does Jack get in those rages often?"

Kittie smiled a wan smile. "When Minnie's been out of his sight for more than thirty seconds, yeah."

Harry smiled. "It does seem he needs to keep an eye on her." Harry considered for a moment and then his eyes widened. "Wait a sec, does that mean she can read my mind too?"

"Oh no," Kittie said. "It's just me as far as I know. But she... she's a sex magnet. Guys flock to her because she discharges all these pheromones, psychic and physical, and she can control how much she issues. She has a talent for what you might call sex appeal. She must have recognized you as a kindred spirit. Couldn't help herself, I guess."

"Are you telling me I have some sort of secret power of sex appeal?" Harry asked, suddenly appalled.

"Kittie nodded.

"Oh," he said in a small voice. "That's kind of embarrassing."

Kittie laughed genuinely at that. "You'll get used to it, I think."

"I suppose I will," Harry said ruefully. "Just have to learn to fend off the ladies."

"Not just the ladies, you know," Kittie said, now in a mischievous tone.

Harry took a second to clue in. "Oh no!" he exclaimed, sitting up right. "no way! I really don't swing that way, thank you very much."

Kittie laughed again. "It wouldn't be so bad, would it? You could have gotten yourself out of Jack's death grip."

Harry gaped at her, speechless, but Kittie merely sat there, enjoying herself immensely.

Right, Harry thought. Time to shift the focus of this conversation.

"So where am I, exactly?" he asked. Harry glanced around, as if he could point to one of the nonexistent objects in his room to illustrate his point.

Kittie's brow creased as she thought, and Harry wondered if he perhaps shouldn't have asked. He had thought that maybe Stu had sent her in here to explain things to him, but it was starting to look like that wasn't the case. She may not know or want to talk about worlds and such, he mused. "We don't have to talk about that, if you don't want to," Harry said in his most gentle tone. "I can-"

"What's it like?" she asked suddenly. 'Up there, I mean? Where you come from?"

Harry was taken aback by the bluntness of the question. It made him wonder if she had never crossed over to that side before, though she clearly knew about it. Fringe worlds always knew about the main one, he thought, and then it made him wonder which world she was talking about. He was willing to assume that she was referring to the Muggle world, but what did he really know about that place? His family? His street? He could count the number of times he left Privet Drive (excluding magical excursions), on one hand.

"It's cold," he said suddenly, realizing as he said it that he meant it. "I'm sure some places are warm, but where I am, it's cold."

"I wasn't talking about the weather, Harry," Kittie said admonishingly.

"Neither was I," he countered. Harry then tore his gaze from her and stared off into the darkness of the far corner, where he could just barely make out cockroaches climbing the walls. "It's a place where nobody's your friend. Not even your own family. They all follow these rules, you see, and no one cares a bit about what's under the rules. They all protect their own kind, and they only bother to find out about your life if they want something or if they want to take advantage of you. If you're lucky, others won't even notice you at all. But only if you're lucky." Harry looked down, feeling that what he said was true. More astonishingly, it did not come from a place of hurt or anger. It was a cold assessment of Privet Drive and Little Whinging, and to some extent, the wizarding world. He had wondered more than once whether his life would have been worth protecting if there hadn't been that prophecy. Would Dumbledore have sent Hagrid to collect him from Godric's Hollow? What of all the other orphaned babies that were out there? Did they all have bodyguards from the age of one? No, probably not. It just wasn't worth the resources, no matter how much your heart went out to them. Dumbledore couldn't protect everyone, so he protected the ones that were important. Harry, in any other year, would have gotten angry at Dumbledore, but now, with him being dead, Harry both admired and pitied him. It was a hard life when you had to choose between bad and more bad, and when people knocked you down no matter what you did. And when you felt so much.

"Harry?" Kittie asked, in a tentative voice. She put a hand on his leg to get his attention.

Harry's head snapped to attention at the sound of her voice and the feel of her warm hand through his trousers. Immediately, he was engulfed in her intense gaze, once again drinking her in like a man dying of thirst. He reached out a hand and stroked her cheek, which was soft and warm and so wonderful to the touch that Harry wanted more of it.

but Kittie pulled away. "Don't," she said in a crisp voice that had a distinct edge to it.

"Don't what?" he asked softly, without any irritation, his hand falling limply to his side.

"You're jacking up the pheromones. I can sense it. I-" she hesitated, clearly unwilling to continue that thought.

But Harry persisted, now both intrigued and panicked that he would lose this amazing woman, who was also his friend. "You what, Kittie?" Harry asked, a humble plea in his voice.

"I can't resist that kind of assault," she said. "it's cruel of you."

Kittie's words hit Harry like a sledgehammer. He recoiled visibly, his face ashen, a look of horror and pain, shame and guilt entwining themselves into his features. "Kuh-kuh-kittie, I'm ssuh-suh-sorry... I didn't know..."

"It's okay, Harry," she said, but her posture remained stiff. "Just, turn it down."

"I - I don't know how," he said feebly, looking down, suddenly embarrassed again.

"You don't know how?"

"I told you; I never knew I even could do such a thing," he said, a bit defensively.

"Oh."

"Maybe if we talked about other things. Business-like things, you know?"

Kittie seemed doubtful. 'I guess so."

"I bet it just rises when I look at you, because-" Harry paused, appalled that he was going to say it, but feeling helpless to stop the oncoming train that was his emotions. "-because you're so beautiful, and it feels like you're the one dishing out all these pheromone things and I just want to drown in them."

There was a long silence following Harry's confession. He wanted to rip his hair out and run screaming from the room, preferably naked, just to add some salt to the wound that was his humiliation. Kittie did not seem particularly impressed by his sentiment, probably because she got it a lot. She was beautiful after all.

"You're so sweet," she said softly, cupping her hand around his cheek. Great, Harry muttered mentally to himself. I'm cute, unruffled, petit and sweet. Just call me a puffsgain.

"What's a puffskain?" Kittie asked curiously.

"It's a cute, fuzzy little animal," Harry explained. "Good for all kinds of things, not that I can really remember any of them. I dropped care of ma-" he paused, mentally kicking himself and then continuing, "Care of Creatures."

Kittie either didn't notice his backtracking or didn't comment on it. But before Harry could breathe a sigh of relief, she narrowed her eyes slightly, studying him like one might study a venomous cobra that had just had its fangs removed. "You're hiding something from me," she said softly, her eyes piercing his.

Harry was all too reminded of so many nightmare inducing legilimancy lessons with Snape that he mentally recoiled, raising whatever meager occlumancy skills he had managed to gain from his time with the former potions master.

Kittie seemed surprised, leaning back and staring at Harry quizzically. She studied him in silence for a long time, Harry not sure what she was looking for. He wasn't even sure if his occlumancy shields had done anything, since she probably wasn't even using legilimancy. Moreover, she was used to reading people's minds and he doubted his pitiful little shields could have deflected her so easily.

But then she said, "You stopped radiating thoughts and emotions. It's like you just shut down."

Those words made sense in a rational way to Harry, but there was something ominous about hearing that you shut down your mind, so he wasn't inclined to be happy about it. he concentrated, thinking about what he had done to do such a thing, when she exclaimed, "Oh, you're back!" Harry screwed up his face in further concentration. "You're trying to figure out what you did," she mused.

"Yeah," he said. "That was the idea."

"Have you gotten any thoughts about it?"

Harry shook his head. "I suppose I can try what I did before."

"Okay," she said. "This could be interesting."

Harry centered his mind on a non-descript grey fog, and then proceeded to fade it away until there was nothing. He then felt the familiar compartmentalization of his mind that signaled occlumancy.

"Oh, you did it again!" she said, now more enthusiastically. "Harry, how are you doing that? There's not a peep coming out of you!"

He shrugged. "Don't know." That was a bald-faced lie, but he wasn't sure he was prepared to divulge the whole wizarding thing.

"You're lying to me," she said, and Harry thought he heard a bit of hurt in her tone.

"I'm sorry," he confessed, still maintaining his mental shields. "I don't want to, Kittie, but it's probably safer if you don't know some things." Harry winced even as he said those words. He was all too aware of how it made him sound like some kind of covert international spy. Or at least, a teenage boy who was cute and petite and trying to pretend he was a covert international spy, but Kittie seemed to just think about it and then nod in acceptance. "I trust you, Harry," she said finally.

Harry's stomach decided at that moment to begin gurgling a protest of hunger. "Um," Harry began, but Kittie put up a hand to silence him.

"It's getting to be the dinner hour. Come on and let's go get some food." Kittie stood and extended one delicate hand for Harry, who took it and jumped off the bed, reflexively touching his wand, which was stuff through a belt loop on his trousers, which he used as a makeshift holster. He figured Moody would have been proud that Harry was observing elementary wand safety, and not sticking his wand in his back pocket, where it could easily blow off a chunk of his buttocks.

The main hall of the Red Cherry had filled up quite a bit since his arrival. The din had risen to a comfortable murmur, not so loud as to be irritating, the way it got in fast food places, but the way it was delicate and just reminded you enough that you were in a posh and very still very popular establishment. Kittie and Harry took a seat at one corner, which, to Harry's mild irritation, gave them a good view of Minnie and Jack, who were sitting nestled together in a booth, Minnie practically crawling all over Jack's legs. Humph, Harry thought irritably. I'm the one who's spitting out pheromones like a bloody hosepipe. Harry then quickly checked to make sure his occlumancy shields were in place. He didn't want Kittie reading thoughts like that.

Kittie brought Harry out of his musings by handing him a menu and opening hers. "They do seafood and steaks really well here. It's that sort of place. I would stay away from their vegetarian options. They're actually designed to scare those kinds of people away."

"Harry wasn't sure what kind of people Kittie was referring to, but he didn't think it had anything to do with her world specifically, as he had often heard his uncle Vernon talk in that same way about many different types of people, and he could recall his uncle referring to vegetarians as those types as well. "I think I'll go with the steak," Harry said. He wasn't particularly fond of steak, but it seemed like the posh thing to do and a place like the Red Cherry might be able to do it better than the elves at Hogwarts.

A clean cut, dark haired young man came up to their table, and he greeted Kittie enthusiastically. "Well look at you!" he exclaimed.

"Marv!" Kittie cried out, jumping to her feet and giving Marv a hug. Harry looked up to see who this new person was. Harry first caught sight of his clean black shoes, which shined like the slick chrome of a black sedan, and his midnight black pants, straight cut and betraying not a wrinkle. He also wore a clean button-up dress shirt, which was tucked in and belted, so that it was clear he was lean and able-bodied. But for all that, Harry did not care. His eyes fell on Marv's face, and it was all Harry could do to keep his mouth shut, and to keep from hexing Marv with the most severe litany of curses he could muster. His dark hair and black eyes, his smooth, boyish features that made him dishy to all the girls, the arrogance burbling beneath the surface of that calm, sometimes hesitant facade. Harry felt a chill run through him quite unrelated to the weather. Without realizing it, he had dropped his shields, and discovered that both Kittie and Marv were looking at him. Marv had his hand extended in greeting, seemingly oblivious of Harry's dismay, and, if Harry had been able to tear his eyes away from Tom - no Marv, he thought - to see Kittie, she would have seen shock and concern written across her face. She was reading Harry like a book.

"Harry, it's not polite to stare." That jolted him out of his reverie, and he quickly shook Marv's hand, smiling forcibly and saying, "nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Marv said, but Harry heard the dangerous hiss beneath his words. Whether it was because he was protective of Kittie or because he was a psychopath, Harry knew not. "Any friend of Kittie's is a friend of mine."

"Thanks," Harry said, feigning sincerity.

"So, what can I get for the two of you this evening?" Marv asked, turning his attention to the pair.

"I don't know just yet, Marv," Kittie was saying, having returned to her menu. "Maybe a chardonnay, to start. What do you think, Harry?"

Harry looked at her, but she was keeping her face resolutely planted in the menu. "Er, yeah. That sounds nice."

"Okay, then," Marv nodded, sensing a tension somewhere. "I'll come back with something house, let's say, and you can try it."

"Oh, you know it'll be wonderful," Kittie said, giving him a quick glance and her dazzling smile.

Marv nodded and then disappeared into the throng of people that were bustling back and forth, delivering drinks. Harry watched him go, waiting for him to slip into the darkness, to blend into the shadow where he would be undetected. When he turned his gaze back to Kittie, he saw that her expression was extremely pained. Her face had taken on lines from stress or fatigue or some other unpleasantness, which, to Harry, made her so much prettier somehow, even though it broke his heart and he knew he had to fix that troubled look in her eyes.

"Kittie?" he asked tentatively.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Are - are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Harry."

Those three simple words in response told him very clearly that she was not fine, however, his inexperienced, teenage addled brain had always had extreme difficulty in dealing with women when they closed up like this. Boys usually just didn't bother talking about it, but girls always seemed to expect something, and Harry had never quite figured out what that something was.

The dinner conversation only seemed to go downhill from there, their conversation having turned stilted and prosaic, until, finally, after Kittie managed to eat only a few bites and swirl her jambalaya about a hundred times, she simply said, "I'm not feeling so well. I think I'd better go have a lie down somewhere. Harry, I had a nice time. I hope you have good luck getting back to your home."

Kittie stood abruptly, and Harry did also, knocking his chair back in the process. "Kittie, wait, please," he said, a note of desperation in his voice. "Please, I know something is wrong. I know that. Please, just tell me what it is I've done. Did I say something? Have I offended you?" Harry was busy racking his brain for an answer to one of those questions, because he knew girls never answered those kinds of questions, and so it was a futile hope asking anyway. He had just hoped that maybe his own unerring humility would shine through and she would take pity on him. But she didn't.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I have to go." And with that, Kittie put as much distance between herself and him as she could manage, leaving Harry to stand dejectedly amidst the tinkling of wine glasses and soft conversation.

Without being aware, someone righted his chair and then slapped Harry on the back. "Oy, Harry, it's me, Jack."

The tone of that voice and that horrible name, which had earlier inspired terror in him drew him back to the present. "Jack!" Harry exclaimed in a very high octave. Harry whipped around to face him.

"so you're after our Kittie, are you?" Jack asked, baring his teeth in what Harry thought must have been one of the most menacing grins in all of Britain.

"Jack, I swear, it's not what it looks like," Harry began, perspiration beading on his forehead.

"Don't you worry," jack said, "If Kittie's what you want, mate, Jack can help you out there. See's I know a thing or two about women." Jack put his arm around Harry's shoulder and began giving Harry some profoundly horrid advice about the birds and the bees. Harry smiled and listened half-heartedly, his heart sinking lower and lower, that feeling that he would never see Kittie again causing his insides to churn. He had only known her for an hour, but it seemed there would always be a Kittie-sized hole in his heart.

To Harry's deep appreciation, Stu, came and saved him from Jack's clutches yet again. "Harry, I think it's coming time we have a little chat about your situation, don't you think?"

Harry nodded vigorously. "Very much so, Stu."

"jack, if you'll excuse us. I think I saw Minnie going after that redhead anyway, so you might want to look into it."

Jack's amicable expression turned to one of lusting rage, and he merely said in his quiet, but deadly voice, "That so, Stu. Well, we'll just as see about that."

Stu nodded and let Jack go before Steering Harry to the bar.

"Don't worry about dinner, Harry. Consider it my gift for the evening."

"Thanks, Stu."

"No problem. Unfortunately, I won't be able to do that for you again. The establishment has its rules and there's a lot of patronage around here that I have to dispense."

"I understand."

The two of them took a seat at the bar and Stu ordered them each a gin and tonic. Stu waited until the two glasses were set before them, and then he succinctly plucked the olive that had been laid in his drink and popped it in his mouth. he downed the glass in one shot and then called for another. When he was midway through his second, he began. "I would have come earlier, but I didn't want to interrupt your little dinner date. It looks like Kittie was quite taken with you."

Harry scowled, and stared into the clear depths of his drink, mumbling something rather incoherent about the date not going that well.

Stu raised an eyebrow and then shook his head. "My young apprentice, it's not all as it seems. Very few people can get a rise out of her. She's been very depressed since she got here. Beautiful and depressed, and let me tell you, there've been a hundred guys before you who've all tried to woo her, to take her mind off her troubles and not a single one has succeeded. Not until tonight that is. She may have been depressed, kid, but for the first time, she was depressed about you and not anything else. And that's a miracle in and of itself."

Despite himself, Harry perked up noticeably at Stu's words. "Really? "

Stu nodded.

"Do you think I'll be able to see her again?"

Stu shrugged. "She's always in here, so it wouldn't be a surprise. You'd have to do something pretty amazing to keep her away, at any rate."

That made Harry wonder where she lived. Maybe she was on Privet Drive in some alternate version. That would be brilliant, he thought. She could even be sleeping in my bedroom. So he asked, "Where does she live?"

"Live?" Stu asked, furrowing his brow. "Listen kid, you gotta understand something about this place. We don't exactly live here. We just come to pass the time."

"I don't understand."

"Some of us come from your world, others from other places. Where you are, the Red Cherry, is part of a strip of territory that's maybe eight blocks long and three blocks wide. There's portals to other places that go here and there. You found one and now you've arrived. People travel all over the place, content to wander."

Harry nodded. "So it's like we're on an island or something. And there's these bridges that jump you from island to island."

"Yeah, yeah, that makes sense. And there's lots of islands. Hell, there's probably a dozen different islands right on this here spot. You just can't get to them. At least, not always."

"Not always?" Harry didn't like the sound of that."

"That's right," Stu went on. "You know, it's funny. You ain't the first to come by this way, but you've definitely taken it better than most. Most, in fact, get scared shitless and try and kill themselves. That or they go half-cocked out into the night and get attacked."

"Attacked?" Harry asked.

"That's right."

"Like I did."

"Yeah, yeah." Stu agreed. "I guess you were pretty lucky."

That made Harry wonder what kind of things were out there that could attack you. He was certain that his spells worked just fine, and that, when it came to Jack, there was something about him that shrugged off the spell. It was like he had giant's blood in him. Harry doubted he were a half-giant, because Hagrid was much bigger, but maybe a quarter-giant or something smaller. "Jack's not entirely human, is he?" Harry asked.

Stu was in the middle of downing his third glass when Harry had spoken, causing him to slam it down and splutter. he glanced at Harry shrewdly. "That's a bit of a leap, isn't it, kid?"

Harry shrugged. "I saw him smash bricks with his hand. It takes superhuman strength to do that, I figure. I could have asked if it were magic, but then I remembered how it is I got there." That was all true enough, he thought, and he supposed that letting on the vampires thing was harmless at this stage. "You see, those not so nice people that chased me - I'm pretty sure they were vampires. Pale skin, blood-drinking, feral eyes. Fast and heightened senses and all that. Oh and scared of sunlight."

Stu looked at him thoughtfully."Vampires, you say? Can't say I've ever run across one of those, but I have heard of them. Rumours only though. Wouldn't do us too good to get an infestation."

"They were all teenagers and it was in a nightclub setting. Actually, the building we were next to when you found me."

Stu nodded, still contemplating. Then he spoke, "We do monitor these gateways, you see. It's important for business. Also, given what's all out there, you can never be too sure what's going to show up, and we'd like to be prepared."

With that last comment, Harry thought of something. "The tingle I felt when we walked in. Is that another portkey?"

"Portkey?"

"Sorry, I meant gateway."

"Right, yes, yes it is. But it's inactive. Or, at least, we can control its activity. That's very clever of you for catching on. We might have a use for a bright kid like you around here."

"Can you get me back?" Harry asked.

Stu shrugged. "Not me. Not anyone here, I think. The gates just come and go, though when they stay, they do stay for awhile."

"How do I know where a gate will lead me?" Harry asked, starting to get concerned. This gateway business was starting to sound rather chancy.

Stu shook his head. "I ain't no traveller, kid. I stay put and that's the way I like it."

Harry sighed tiredly. "This isn't sounding good," Harry muttered.

"It never is, it never is," Stu agreed. "That's why it would have been better for you to head back through the gateway right away, but I don't think that's completely safe anymore.

"So what now then?" Harry asked.

"You've got two choices. There's a gate at the end of the road, and you can chance it to wherever you end up, or you can stay here and have another drink and make a bit of a life for yourself. At least for the time being. Maybe something'll come up."

Harry pursed his lips. This really wasn't sounding good. He had to get back. At least by the time his birthday rolled around. It didn't matter much until then, since he would be stuck at his aunt's place anyway. But then people were going to start going spare looking for him. Hell, he thought, it'll probably happen in about ten days time, when I haven't responded to make plans for my departure from Little Whinging. So that was it then. he had to find a way out of his predicament soon. He wondered if he had left his window open for Hedwig, and then shook the thought from his head. It would be better if she could stay out. He didn't know if his aunt and uncle would bother taking care of her otherwise, and he was glad suddenly that she was so independent and stayed out most of the time. He was also glad he had just sent letters off the previous morning to Ron and Hermione. That would appease them a bit longer. As much as he wanted their assistance in getting out of this mess, he doubted if they would figure out what had happened, so it was just better that they didn't try. He supposed if Dumbledore were around, that they might have had a chance. Dumbledore always had a few tricks up his sleeve. It was one of those incredibly annoying things about him, Harry realized, and one of the things that made everyone trust him implicitly. It always seemed he had information that others didn't. And isn't that what Professor McGonagall had said? He was always so confident of Snape, that it seemed like he had an iron-clad reason to trust the bastard. Harry shook himself free of his thoughts and asked Stu where he would be sleeping for the night.

"You can take the backroom," Stu said. "That's all we've got. Tomorrow though, you're going to have to find some work or some money. No stealing though. We can probably wrangle something here, or you can try one of the shops down the road. Just don't stray too far or you might not come back."

"Gotcha," Harry said. "I think I'd rather stay here, but I wouldn't mind looking around also."

Stu nodded knowingly. "There wouldn't happen to be a reason of the female persuasion that would cause you to stick around here, would there?"

Harry blushed and then, as if shrugging it off like it were nothing, downed the rest of his gin and stood. "Listen, Stu-"

"you're beat, kid. Go on. I'll find you your work in the morning. It'll be menial stuff, but it'll get you by, and you'll have lots of nice meals for your troubles. I've been to a lot of places in my time, and this here is one of a kind."

Harry smiled, thanked Stu and disappeared into his backroom. And, so there began Harry's adventure.

-----------------

A/N: Minnie's talent of sex appeal was taken right out of Piers Anthony's novel "Castle Roogna", third book in the Xanth series, which I read when I was twelve years old. There was a character named Millie who had that same talent.

"Hanging's too good for you! Burning's too good for you! I'm going to rip you into itty bitty pieces and bury you alive!" - Taken from Heavy Metal, the animated film. (The trial scene).

Some of you may be asking the question, "What in God's name is going on?" You would be very right to ask that question. All I can say is that I promise there will be Dark Lords and Death Eaters and Diagon Alley and Hogwarts and all the rest of it. Also, Harry-lovers should be warned that a third of this fic is from Ron and Hermione's POV. There will also be an influx of new stuff, if this chapter is any indication. If you don't like new stuff, then this fic probably isn't right for you.

Pairings for those of you who care:

Ron/Hermione

Neville/Luna

Katie Bell/ Terry Boot

I won't tell you who Harry shacks up with, nor will I tell you who Ginny shacks up with. All I'll say is that this is not a Harry/Ginny story, so be warned, all you H/G shippers.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that belongs to Ms. Rowling, including any of the plot elements, characters, settings, etc. from the Harry Potter universe. There's also probably other little stuff in here that belongs to other works of art - such is the nature of narrative. As such, for the sake of safety, I will disclaim possession of all content below.

Chapter Two

Mosaics

When Harry awoke the next morning, he found himself reaching for his glasses, but found that, where his nighttable should have been, there was merely empty air. Thinking he must not be reaching far enough, he, continuing in his sleep-induced haze, reached out further and further and further until he found himself rolling off the edge of the bed and onto a hard stone floor. "Wha-?" he asked, absently brushing silverfish from his face as they tried to climb into his mouth. Harry blearily looked around, taking in that now familiar scent of urine and sawdust. "Huh?" he went on, trying to make sense of the impenetrably dark walls of his new room. It seemed like there should have been a poster up and probably white light from a window, and a cage? Yes, there should have been a cage and the distinct smell of an animal. Hedwig.

Harry climbed to his feet and took in a deep breath, shaking the fatigue from his skin. It wouldn't do to lounge around in bed all day in this foreign place. Not that he was a layabout; in fact, he had always gotten up rather early. It was a kind of an survival mechanism with the Dursleys, since it was always dangerous to be caught in bed. The kinds of lectures he had received when he was young still made him shiver. There had been that blinding white light from the one hundred twenty watt incadescent that managed to shine directly into the cupboard when the door was open. And there had been rough hands dragging him out, all the while the sounds of muttering and cursing from his uncle, all of it directed at him, full of venemous words. Yes, this room reminded him of that, with its dankness, its vacancy, its dark walls. You're just going to have to get used to it, he thought grimly. It's just another little trial for you. Toughen up.

Harry had decided at some point over the course of the last fifteen hours that it was probably safe to use his wand, though he was certain he should keep his powers hidden. He wasn't sure what kind of beings were out here; certainly it was the kind of place where people played things close to the vest. He wasn't entirely sure that Stu was on the level with him, though he couldn't be sure. Years of being in Gryffindor dulled his slytherin edge somewhat and Stu seemed like a first rate pro at the smooth talk. Opening with that bit about Kittie falling for Harry had been a very skillful way of gaining Harry's confidence, and taking the time to down a couple of drinks had made him seem so casual. But in retrospect, harry remembered Stu having a keening intelligence about him even after his third and fourth drink. It was all an act; maybe not even a conscious one or maybe Stu just did it for sport, he was so good. Regardless, harry decided to be cautious. All the same reasons why wizards lived in secret applied here as much as it did out there. Fear, jealousy, greed.

That said, Harry was not entirely averse to using his wand to do some quick cleaning charms and smoothing out his clothes. He also brushed his hair back, conjured a bit of water to drink and take away the dryness that accompanied the liquor. You had at least three glasses, including the two glasses of chardonnay, he told himself.

When Harry deemed himself presentable, he left his little room and wandered about the now deserted bar. All was quiet, both inside and outside. Sometime during the night, everything had been cleaned and put away; the dark oak of the bar was shining immaculately, all the chairs had been pushed in, the salt shakers and what not were neatly in line with one another. Harry folowed the sun slanting in through the large front windows, and, judging by its height in the sky, he guessed it was about eight in the morning. He pushed his way outside, not surprised to find the door unlocked. He suspected that the electric tingle had an added security function somewhere. If danger really were about, somebody somewhere would do something to rectify it.

The sun was out, and it was shaping up to be a warm day, but at that time in the morning, the brisk wind that swept down the street, gusting leaves and bits of dirt about made Harry chilly. He wished he had brought his jacket, and then decided maybe he could find a shop somewhere and pick something up on loan. It was a Friday, so he imagined that something should be open if not now then soon. No later than ten, though he briefly wondered what he should do in that time. he only had a range of eight blocks along the main street and three to the side. He hadn't bothered to ask Stu where the Red Cherry was on that map, but he decided that he should be able to sense something and at least a few blocks in either direction was probably safe. Stu would have mentioned it otherwise. With the sun shining down on the street, Harry could see that there were even more colours than before. The cement blocks that made up the sidewalk changed colours when he wasn't looking, which made them seem a bit shifty. What kind of a cement block refuses to change colour when you're looking? he wondered. Still, Harry marvelled at how different things were.

The buildings were all the same configuration as far as Harry could tell, though he had to admit he hadn't paid much attention wen he had been walking down the street the previous afternoon. Also surprising was the dense traffic that flitted about. It made him wonder where they came from if the island were so small. Were they all just travelling about from one island to another? Perhaps they're all in transit, he mused. Looking more closely at them, and doing so as surreptitiously as he could manage, Harry noticed that some of them appeared to be too thin to be normal and others had slight distortions that made him think they too had something else about them. One person had a particularly large overcoat on, and Harry had the distinct impression that there was an apendage he was hiding. Taking a gamble, he whispered a soft hex that Hermione had invented, which stripped off articles of clothing. Harry had to temper it so that it didn't strip the poor sod bare. "Vestirevesco," he whispered, thumbing his wand with one hand and aiming it at the man while keeping it in its holster.

The man, who looked aged with balding spots on his forehead, stopped in mid stride, tripping over his large coat as it fell to his feet. he went crashing to the ground face first, causing a number of people to stop and gawk as he struggled to get to his feet. Harry wasn't sure if they were staring, because he had fallen or if they were staring because he had giant wings folded up from his backside. Harry's jaw dropped at this as he saw them flex outward instinctively, as if they'd suddenly been freed. The man gurgled a cry of extreme rage, looking around with what Harry saw were horrible yellow eyes. His nose was too sharp to be human though otherwise you couldn't tell. He had a bulge in his stomach and his teeth were bared in a look of crazed malice. "Ye bustards!" he shrieked in a high-pitched, tinny voice that Harry did not expect to come from such a man. It was bird-like, he realized. The man was wearing a long sleeved white shirt over his torso, and harry saw that the wings protruded through them. slits had been made in the fabric to allow for his wings, which were a bright canary yellow with dark grey patches on the underside.

People began milling about, but Harry merely stood there in continued disbelief. he had seen enough things in the magical world that he had thought his senses had been dulled to the extraordinary, but it had apparently not been the case. The man fixed on harry, as if realizing that it had been he who had caused the prank. The sweat faced delirious visage of happy lunacy that the man projected seemed to ooze closer to Harry. The man had extended his wings and was now flying at him, decidedly intent upon letting Harry share in his anger. But Harry was not going to have any of it, despite the guilt that was welling up in him. He whipped his wand out of his makeshift holster swiftly and gracefully and aimed it at the creature. he didn't bother with the Stunning Curse, or even the full body bind. No, he knew what to do to repel objects that were hurtling at him at high velocity. "Reducto!" he cried out, and a jet of blue light arced toward the creature, whose face was hardly recognizable as human. Harry was barely aware that pincers had cut through the man's shirt and were now tittering happily in anticipation of his flesh. The curse hit the creature's left wing and blew it apart in a shower of bloodied feathers. The thing was sent careening to one side and crashed pitifully against a concrete garbage can, whimpering pitifully. The thing then burst into tears, crying uncontrollably so that its face became a series of crisscrossing waterways. It's wing had been stripped of much of its feathers, and there was parts of it that were bleeding, but otherwise it wasn't bent, and there didn't appear to be any deep lacerations. Harry mentally thanked himself for that. Others that were milling about to look at the spectacle seemed unsure of themselves.

One of them approached Harry, saying, "Don't worry about it. he'll right himself soon enough. Twasn't your fault."

But it was, harry thought, suddenly erecting his shields. He didn't want to get caught unawares again. The man shrugged and harry glanced his way. "Can I ask you something?" Harry said.

"You gonna ask if we're all a bit odd?" the man inquired.

Harry nodded, trying to avert his gaze from the man's violently pink lips and pig's snout.

"I'm a bit new to the place," Harry confessed."

"Understandable," said the stranger. "name's Derek."

"They shook hands. "Harry."

"Oh, I know," said Derek.

"Really?" Harry asked.

Derek glanced up at the scar. That one movement made Harry alert and exhilarated. He turned to face Derek and, instead of asking, merely raised an eyebrow. The winged creature howled mournfully for a moment and Harry, without thinking flicked a cheering charm his way, which immediately had the effect of quieting his sniffles.

"Cheering charm?" Derek asked.

Harry nodded. "yeah."

"Mmm, it's been a long time since I've seen a wand."

"You a wizard?" Harry asked.

Derek laughed ruefully. "Hardly. I'm what you assholes call a Muggle."

Harry was taken a bit aback by the man's bitterness, but, in the ensuing silence, as Harry had time to contemplate it, he realized what it must have been. "A wizard transfigured your nose," harry said.

Derek nodded. "Four long years ago," Derek said, his voice turning a little shaky. "Yeah."

Harry's first impulse was to offer to fix it, but he wasn't sure how to go about suggesting it, so he let the silence hang, and waited for Derek to continue.

"What the hell kind of people do things like that?" Derek asked.

"Mean ones," Harry said instantly. "Dark ones."

"Dark ones..." Derek mused. 'You a dark one."

Harry laughed aloud at the irony of that. "Dark ones murdered my whole family, Derek. It seems all I do is fight dark ones." And then, harry added as an afterthought, "Assuming I'm not getting lost in these interworld pockets."

"Ah, yes," Derek said. "After my little encounter with your kind, I was hardly in any shape to go home. They left me in the middle of the street, and I crawled into alleyways, lurking about eating whatever I could find. Soon, I realized that this-" he tapped his snout, "- this came in quite useful in finding things. Also, they must have changed something inside me too, because my constitution was a bit tougher too."

"Four years," harry said, gulping.

The man went on as though he didn't hear Harry, as though he were happy for the first time to have an audience, though he seemed not to quite notice that harry was there. "But soon, even the bums and hobos decided I was too much of a freak to be let around. They strung me up and tried to cook me. Thought it would be funny. Some do-gooder missionary types saw it and figuring I was a man, they decided to intervene. Well, once they got me down, I was hardly going to stay and let them crucify me. They would have thought me the devil or some such thing, so I pushed through them."

"Pushed through them?"

"Appears I was stronger than I'd realized, or maybe it was pent up adrenalin. I smashed one so hard in the face I heard something crunch and from the look in her eyes, I knew she was dead. I didn't need to stay to find out. I just knew it, and so I ran and there was only one place to go. The sewers. And there I stayed for a long time until one day, when I came topside, I discovered that the world wasn't the same anymore."

"Would you like me to reverse the transfiguration?" Harry asked tentatively.

The man laughed a deep, bitter laugh. "I left a wife, you know. Imagine what she must have thought of me, not coming home that day. How could I? How could I come home and show my face to her? She would have run away in terror."

Harry didn't have the heart to tell Derek that, if he had simply gone home and caused a great big fuss in the media, the Ministry of Magic would have intervened eventually and set things right and that they would have all been obliviated. It seemed like a tactless thing to point out at this stage, so harry merely let him go on about his parents and his sister who died of leukemia, and how they must have been horribly devastated at his disappearance. All in all it was not a happy tale.

"Do you know what it's like to have to leave your loved ones?" the man asked, and Harry detected a hint of accusation in his voice.

having already mentioned that his entire family had been murdered, he didn't think the question was meant to be answered. But the man had known who he was. Maybe others passing by had had similar fates. This was a fringe world, after all, and there must have been some crossover with the magical community. Maybe the winged creature had recognized him too.

Derek seemed to have lost steam and suddenly looked spent, as if all the energy that he had stored for the day's exertion had now run its course. "I can fix it for you," Harry said helplessly, though somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that it wasn't so easy. There were psychological scars too.

"You could, could you?" The tone in the man's voice confirmed Harry's suspicions. It wasn't going to be that easy.

"Er, if you wanted," Harry said, trying to sound appeasatory.

"Just like that," Derek mused.

Harry nodded. "Unless there's something special about it i don't know about."

"And what would I do then?" Derek asked.

"Excuse me?"

"What would I do if you fixed it?"

"Well, you would go about your day," harry knew the question was a bait for some argument Derek had already planned, but he didn't know what else to do except take it. Sometimes, venting was the only way to release one's venom.

"And where would I go? Could I go back to my old life? Could I show up on my wife's doorstep? Or my family's? How would I explain this to them?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know. You don't have to go back to them if you don't want to. But you could go back to a similar life. Your time with them was cut short, but those ends are still loose and those wounds are still raw. Even if you can't make amends, you could give them the peace of knowing you're all right."

"Derek seemed to consider this. "You know, this change they did to me has given me certain powers. I have a keen sense of smell, a strong stomach, and enhanced stamina, speed and strength. If I lose that, I will go back to being weak. I suppose it's a trade that I could find love and belonging again, but I might always feel naked without those powers. they've come to be a part of me."

Harry nodded. "I understand that. I was always told I was a freak for these powers, but coming to understand them and work with them, I came to love them. I would never want my magic taken away."

It is such a price," Derek mused. "I wouldn't even know how to get back to that place from where I came. And without my cursed gifts, I doubt I would survive long enough to make it there."

"Have you ever gotten back since you left?" Harry asked, now curious. this question had relevance to his own life.

"Ah, you want to return yourself. This was an accident for you as much as it was for me," he said, making a sweeping gesture with his hand.

harry nodded.

"I think I have, but sometimes I don't know. I wonder if maybe there will be some detail that doesn't quite fit, and I won't know about it for years, or perhaps ever. There's a million worlds out there, all spinning to their own rhythm."

"Hmm," Harry said.

"good luck to you, and maybe we'll see each other again."

"Yeah, maybe."

The man tippped his hat to Harry and then walked off.

"Hey," harry called, not sure why he was doing it, but feeling that he needed to. "If you come by this way again, I'm staying at the Red Cherry, just a couple blocks that way." harry pointed down the street. "Stop in and say hi if you like. And if you change your mind about the transfiguration..." Harry didn't know how to finish that statement, but it didn't matter. Derek was nodding.

"I understand. The invitation's open."

"yeah."

And so Derek disappeared.

When harry looked down, he saw that the creature he had embarrassed and hurt had left, leaving only an inky mark of blood on the otherwise fucia sidewalk. His overcoat, however, remained strewn haphazardly on the asphalt, having been run over several times in the past few minutes. Well, Harry thought, I hope that Cheering Charm offsets all the damage I did. He resolved not to cast magic on unsuspecting muggles again; at least not without a good reason, like self-defense. People who learn the hard way about why laws are the way they are usually have to pay a price, a nasty voice said somewhere inside his head. What price are you going to pay, boy?

Harry tried to continue focusing on taking in the surroundings around him. He wanted to have a full appreciation of this world, in part because, over the years, his friendship with Hermione had inspired his academic curiosity to flourish, and in part because he was looking for clues that could help him get out of here.

Before long, however, he felt a rumbling in his stomach and knew he had to go find food. There was no lack of eateries, which would have been a good thing, except that Harry was hurting for money. He had about five pounds to his name, which was hardly enough to cover a breakfast. Worse even was the prospect that they didn't take Muggle money. A memory of a handful of galleons flashed across his mind, and he had to smile. He was pretty certain they wouldn't take that, so really, he was better off with five measly pounds than he would have been with a hundred galleons. Harry resolved to go into the nearest cafe, which was aptly named, Mosaics, and, at least, see what they had and maybe talk to a waitress.

The cafe was quaint, allowing the large single room to be flooded with sunlight through the east facing, floor-to-ceiling windows. The floor was made of checkered blue and white ceramic tiles, and all the chairs and tables were metal, giving the place a modernist art feel. Especially given the clientell, who seemed to be a younger sort, though they weren't quite on par with what Harry thought of as University students. These people were wearing leather and had rings of all kinds protruding from their ears and noses and eyes and probably other places that he couldn't see. Many of them had a roughened look, or, more precisely, a wannabe roughened look. It was as if a bunch of Calvin Klein models decided to dress up as Hell's Angels bikers.

Harry went to the counter, ignoring the cake counter and the coffee machines. He looked up at the menu, and, to his relief, saw that the place offered eggs and sausages and it was a mere four ninety. "I'll have the number 12 combo," Harry said, setting his five down and waiting patiently in front of the goth girl with violently pink hair who was guarding the till. She eyed him suspiciously, and Harry got the feeling that he was committing another inter-world faux pas, like he had done by walking into the vampire nightclub. What hornet's nest have I crawled into this time? he wondered, but he didn't have long to think about it, because he really was very hungry and danger didn't seem imminent.

The girl took his money, eyed it with the same distaste she was showing Harry and then said, "Go have a seat. I'll bring it by when it's ready."

"Thanks," Harry said and found a table for two that was adjacent to one of the giant windows, affording him a view of the street traffic. I wonder why all the cars are so old, he mused. If there really were a million different worlds and they were all different, what did that mean for his? And for his chances of getting back? He had thought that maybe he would have to try five or ten times if worse came to worse, but now it looked like he might never get back, or he might get back and discover after a long time that it wasn't his world after all. Maybe I'll return to a world that doesn't have a prophecy in it, he thought suddenly, and that idea seemed infinitely tantalizing. There could be a world out there where his parents never died and, maybe, where he could have a normal life. But wouldn't that mean there was another Harry as well? That thought sent a shiver through him; a shiver so deep that Harry didn't even feel hungry, which was unfortunate, because his food had arrived.

"Here, kid," said the girl.

Harry looked up at her face, and saw that her violently pink hair had taken on a purple streak. "Are you a metamorphagus?" he asked without thinking, but the girl merely looked at him quizzically.

"I've been called a lot of things, but that ain't one of 'em." She left abruptly, obviously not interested in pursuing more conversation with their resident stranger.

As Harry pushed down his first few bites, which he had to admit was rather good, the door swung open and a band of three hooligan-esque looking types sauntered in. "Eh, Jilly," said the leader of the pack, his spiked green hair jiggling somewhat as he seemed to shake his head to the beat of some unheard rhythm.

"Hi TNT," said Jilly in what sounded like a bored voice, though Harry wasn't fooled. He could tell that there was a bit of glee in her voice, and that she had relaxed a bit. He wondered if she fancied him.

"Put together a strong cup of java for me and the boys. We're going out to do a run in," TNT checked his watch with a stylized flourish that reminded Harry of Lockheart. "-in fifteen minutes." Then TNT looked up and gave Jilly a dazzling smile. "Say, love the hair."

Jilly blushed crimson. "Really?"

"Oh yeah."

One of the other two that accompanied TNT was prodding his partner and pointing in Harry's direction, which made Harry groan inwardly. The three of them seemed incredibly gawdy, all dressed up in shining leather, which looked as though it hadn't seen a day of hard work in its life and with all kinds of silver buttons and buckles that jangled as they moved. Come to think of it, he thought, with the green hair and the silver accessories, they were decked out in Slytherin colours. That thought put Harry further on edge.

Finally, the other two managed to get TNT's direction and orient him in Harry's direction. Their eyes locked for the briefest moment and Harry knew he was in trouble yet again. The look in TNT's eyes went from surprise to distaste to thoughtfulness to malignant joy. And so, with that, the thre advanced fast and hard, TNT's flunkies standing at the side of the table as if to occlude Harry from the rest of the cafe, while TNT sat across from harry, a stern expression infusing his features.

I suppose they think they're scary, Harry thought darkly, letting them scrutinize him. He kept his wand trained on TNT from under the table. If he so much as breathes wrong, I'll blow his crotch off.

"What's your name?" TNT asked.

"Draco," harry said without thinking.

TNT smirked at his two compatriots, who silently agreed that it was the dumbest name they'd ever heard.

"Where do you live?" asked TNT.

Harry raised an eyebrow. Were they trying to intimidate him? It had not slipped his mind that if he started sounding out curses, it would be very difficult to hide his powers, and they were close enough to turn the table over and expose his wand, and while he could get two of them, if he were lucky, the third would probably get him and then he'd be screwed. And they can't know about the wand, he thought. They'd break it without thinking twice.

"I asked you a question, kid. You deaf?"

Silencio, Harry thought, gripping his wand and focusing as hard as he could. Then, not knowing if the spell worked, he said, "No, are you?"

What? TNT mouthed, but after he had said it, the look of confusion that crossed his features was priceless. Harry stifled a laugh and merely stared evenly at TNT. TNT crossed his eyes as if to look down at the rest of his face. He mouthed some more words, trying to speak, but he couldn't manage it.

Harry gently repositioned his wand on his knee so that it was aimed directly at the other two. "Do you guys have a problem?" he inquired. "I'd like to eat my breakfast in peace."

The two standing glanced at each other and then stared down at TNT, who remained silently mouthing words. One of them ventured, "TNT? Dude, you okay?"

But TNT didn't seem to be listening. His ire had been provoked and now he was starting to shake with anger. His eyes fixated on Harry, and Harry could feel his anger being directed at him. While he couldn't speak, he very much had control of his other abilities, one of which was the ability to beat Harry to a bloody pulp.

"What are your names?" Harry asked the other two.

They glanced at each other for support, it seemed, because they hadn't expected this turn of events. Whether they were going to give Harry their names, he never found out, because TNT stood, his face purple with rage, his left index finger pointed accusingly at harry.

"What?" Harry asked. "Cat's got your tongue?"

"Not being able to order his goons to manhandle Harry, TNT began gesticulating wildly, mouthing words that none of them could understand.

"TNT, what's wrong?" one of them asked, but this was clearly not the right thing to say, because TNT's faced swelled to an even deeper shade of people, and he began railing off explicatives, to the best of Harry's mouth-reading ability. He decided to strip off the hex and let the cafe inhabitants find out what the fuss was all about.

"I CAN'T FUCKING SPEAK! YOU AIRHEADS! WHAT'S THE FUCKING WRONG WITH-" Tnt cut himself off, his face ashen with humiliation, his eyes wide and searching for the inexplicable return of his voice. He then whirled on Harry, shrieking in what Harry thought was the girliest voice he had ever heard. "You! You did this to me!"

Harry shrugged. "Don't know what you're talking about, mate."

The cafe, to Harry's amusement, had become silent as all eyes were fixed on the display. Even Jilly, who was a secret admirer of TNT's, was bewildered and frightened.

"Do you have any idea who you're messing with?" TNT hissed in what was probably his most dangerous voice. "Do you know why they call me TNT?"

"Because you're like dynamite, and when you get angry, you explode?" Harry ventured.

Having guessed correctly why the hooligan had taken on his apparently not so clever nickname was not by any means pacifying him. Instead, his eyes crossed and he began to bare fangs. Razor sharp fangs, and his eyes turned yellow just like the winged creature outside. "I'm going to eat you alive, you little runt!" he scowled.

His two compatriots were looking around nervously, and Harry saw that some of Mosaics clients were stealthily exiting.

"There's something wrong with your eyes, I think," Harry said calmly, still content to wind up his adversary. "And your teeth could do with some filing. A bit pointy, aren't they?"

Harry flicked and swished his wand, and said aloud, "Wingardiem Leviosa." He had never lifted an object as large as a human before, but he decided it was worth a try. To his relief, TNT was now floating in the air, a look of wild surprise and horror on his face. Harry flicked him to the far corner, where he went sailing into a table and two chairs. He then focused his attention on the two remaining foot soldiers and said pointedly, "Well? Aren't you going to go collect your friend?"

One of them scrutinized Harry curiously. "You know, kid. You might have some skill there, but you shouldn't get too cocky. Us demonoids like to stick together, and TNT over there's got friends."

TNT was just standing up, a look of murder in his eyes when the door to the cafe swung violently open. Harry jumped to his feet, his wand still in his hand as the new visitor presented herself. Kittie surveyed the room sternly, her eyes first falling on TNT and then on Harry. "What's going on here?" she asked in her crisp voice, a voice Harry knew meant she was not happy.

"I'm going to kill him, Kittie," growled TNT.

"You're going to get your ass kicked, demon-boy," Harry said. "Bring it on."

TNT charged, but there was too much of a distance for him to cover, even though he was incredibly fast. Harry hit him with the full body bind, which sent him sprawling to the floor, locked in position. The other two had backed away from Harry, not understanding where these powers were coming from. Harry noticed, but only as a soldier appraising his position. One of them, he noticed, was shaking his head. "We warned you, kid," the guy said. Jilly hopped over the counter and stared daggers at Harry, and, to Harry's dismay, the remaining clients joined her. Kittie suddenly looked very nervous, and she said, "Listen, harry, we better get out of here. We don't want trouble."

I'm so tired of this crap, he thought irritably. "Don't I? I can't even have a bloody breakfast without being attacked. These clowns want to mess with me. so be it." Harry cried out, "Serpento sortia! and, as the blast shot from his wand, he made an arcing gesture that caused the light to shatter into a shower of sparks that left twenty tiny snakes all hissing the same thing. Where are we?" they asked.

The clients, who had all looked human enough before, had now distended their features into something ugly and feral. They weren't vampires, Harry knew, because they didn't possess the tell-tale signs - fear of sunlight and pale skin. They were all baring their hideous teeth and now cracked and bleeding faces, exposing something darker and more sinister underneath. They were angry, and in particular, they seemed distinctly unhappy about the arrival of Harry's backup, though, to Harry's dismay, the fracturing augmentor he had learned about in sixth year Charms class had had the unfortunate side effect of making all his snakes much smaller and much less formidable looking. They still had a mean glare and a vicious bite though. harry was also aware that they were not the same type of snake that had come out of Malfoy's wand in second year. These ones looked meaner, to harry's relief. That's something, at least, he thought. As for their size, he considered just enlarging them, but that seemed like it would take too much time, but then it occurred to him that he could combine an engorgement charm with an area effects augmentor, which he then cast. All the snakes grew to about five feet in length, covering the floor with their sinewy bodies. Suddenly, the room seemed much more daunting and formidable, and the demons weren't entirely sure how to handel this new situation. "Obey me," Harry hissed in parseltongue, barely aware as he did it the shock that registered on Kittie's face. Indeed, all the demons were taken aback by what Harry was doing. S'pose they only know English, he thought. One of them decided to pounce, having had enough of Harry's antics, it seemed, and, while it could gain some serious vertical with its powerful legs, two snakes shot up into the air, catching it in mid-flight and sinking their teeth into its arms. The creature let out a hoarse whine of shock and pain and then fell motionless at Harry's feet. It was dead.

Pandemonium broke out as the demons began attacking the snakes. One went for Kittie, but Harry was hardly going to let one of them hurt her. A snake jumped up in front and caught it around the throat, squeezing its neck in its coils and biting it clean through the forehead. Another jumped at Kittie, now having its deceased colleague as a shield, but harry sent the strongest hex he knew, one he didn't think he should be practicing, exactly, but which his rage-flared instincts told him to send anyway. "Sectum sempra," he whispered, his eyes alight with battle fury.

The spell connected hard, slashing a deep wound across the creature's torso and blowing the skin apart to spray blood everywhere. Kittie shrieked as blood spattered her face and clothes. Harry took a moment to watch his children devour the demons, which, he realized were no match for them. The snakes were proving to be ultra-fast, though Harry was starting to suspect that they were actually anticipating the moves of the demons. They could also coil themselves and shoot very high into the air, and had perched on all manner of objects in order to secure better vantage points. It's like they're moving as one, he thought, awed by the sheer power of all the snakes. What they lacked in size they made up for in speed and agility, and, of course, deadly poison. They're cobras, he realized, recognizing the scent of their toxic venom from one of Slughorn's potions classes.

Within a few minutes, none of the demons were left standing, leaving only Harry and Kittie standing, Harry's eyes blazing with the force of his sixteen years of pain and war while Kittie's blazed with absolute fear. A fear directed at Harry himself. When he realized this, he felt as though his heart had stopped. Oh no, he bemoaned, she hates me. "Kittie," he began, starting to move toward her. This action, however, brought her out of whatever spell had paralyzed her, and she, instead of moving towards Harry, further into the nest of writhing snakes and dead or unconscious demons, pirouetted and bolted from the cafe.

Still marvelling at the efficiency with which he had dispatched his enemies, Harry burst into a sprint, leaving his breakfast behind and chasing after Kittie, calling out her name. "Kittie! Kittie! Stop, please!" But she did not, at least not at first. then, finally, she slowed, and harry caught up to her.

"Get away from me!" she said, panting too hard to draw enough breath to shout. "Please!" Kittie collapsed, leaning heavily against the side of a red and blue striped building. Harry did not listen to her and instead came very close, enfolding her in his arms. She began to cry openly.

"Don't," he said softly. "Don't push me away."

"Please," she whispered, an unmistakable pleading tone in her voice. "Please just let me go."

Harry recoiled suddenly, his own face ashen with pain. "Kittie, please," he began, his voice turning weak and shaky. "Please, don't be afraid of me."

Despite Harry's own plea, her continued fear was plainly written on her face. "I-I... I don't know who you are, Harry," she managed. "You're not like anything I've ever seen before."

"No, Kittie, it's not - I mean - well, I can do things, yes, but..." Harry trailed off, not sure what to say. Hadn't he just killed a bunch of people? And why? Because he was angry. Angry at the world, angry at his family and at Dumbledore and all the adults who were supposed to be there. Wasn't there a bitterness in him that was waiting to thrive, to satisfy itself on the precipitation of misery and pain in others? Yes, he was a soldier, and he was, to his credit, defending himself and nothing more, and he couldn't be faulted for that. But more importantly, he didn't care that much afterwards about them. If the demons died, he wouldn't really lose sleep over it, and that made him different from other sixteen year old boys. Other boys, who might be wanton, would feel horror at that carnage, but Harry only felt grim satisfaction. He was lashing out in a way that he wanted to and was denied the night he tried to inflict the Cruciatus on Snape.

But all those thoughts were blown away, because he had made Kittie cry, and he didn't want to do that. She still didn't seem to have the strength to move, so Harry took to using his wand to clean off the blood stains that had stained her face, her clothes, even her hair.

"Wha-what are you doing to me?" she asked in a timid voice.

"I'm just cleaning off the blood," Harry said softly. He moved close to her and held her tightly, feeling the warmth of her body mingle with the warmth of his. "Kittie, I wouldn't hurt you. Please believe me. I only attacked them out of self-defense. You saw that, didn't you? Please, believe me."

"I want to, Harry," she said, equally softly. "But, what you did. Those images. They were so horrible. I was so scared of you, all I wanted to do was get away. How could you have so much of that in you. It overwhelmed me. all I could think was, I don't know who I'm sitting with. I don't know you, and yet, you're such a force that it takes me by surprise. Sometimes, when strong people are put together, sometimes, one of them gets attached to the other and it... it makes me feel like I'm weak again. I feel so strong, and it makes me weak." Kittie's tears were still flowing, but the sobs that had been coming full throttle had now died down so she was merely hiccuping and sighing heavily into his shoulder. I have another girl crying on me, he thought. I'm the Boy Who Makes Girls Cry.

Kittie looked up at his face suddenly, staring at him curiously. "What does that mean?" she asked.

"What does what mean?" harry returned, not understanding her question.

"The Boy That Makes Girls Cry."

"Oh," Harry said, understanding. "I lowered my shields. I'm sorry. I've been keeping them up, but with the fight and you and..." Harry trailed off again.

"Shields?" she asked, tentatively.

Harry immediately resurrected his Occlumancy shields, which allowed him to mentally kick himself for saying that. "Yes, shields," he admitted. "I was trained to defend my mind from attack last year."

"Defend your mind from attack," Kittie said softly, in a musing tone. "That sounds so sad." Harry felt Kittie's weight shift, and he realized she was no longer clinging to him for physical support or to cry, but because she wanted to. he could feel that her posture had relaxed into his body, and he took a moment to silently enjoy that feeling.

"Yeah, I guess it is a little sad," he said, never having thought about it. Most people didn't learn Occlumancy, because, frankly it was a waste of time. How likely is it that someone's going to break into your head anyway, Harry thought.. What are the chances?

Harry's mind wandered back to some of the things that Kittie had said, and he tensed suddenly. "Kittie," he began slowly. "You weren't talking about just now. when you said you feared me. You were talking about last night."

Kittie sniffed and then looked up at him her eyes still shining, and she said, in a resigned tone, "yes. Last night."

"What happened?'

"You happened, Harry. You."

"I ddon't understand.

"When we met Marv, it was like... it was like you went from radiating nothing to going nuclear in about half a second. I was almost knocked out by all the things that were flowing from you. First it was shock, and then it was fear and horror and loathing and then, finally, rage. Harry, you were killing me."

She let those words hang in the mid-morning sun, a breeze coursing through the alleyway and blowing detritus around their feet, mirroring Harry's melancholy emotions that were now churning up inside him. He hadn't realized she had felt all that from him. He must have been a nuclear bomb of negativity.

"And you didn't understand where all that came from," Harry finished softly.

Kittie nodded.

"And it wouldn't do to be with someone like that, who could just shift to being so evil all of a sudden," harry mused. And then it hit him. 'You thought I was jealous, didn't you?"

Kittie looked up, pleading, and that fear returned in full force. She didn't say anything, but he heard her nervousness in the way he breathed.

"Oh Kittie," he said, his breathing turning fast, fast as his now racing heart. He stroked her hair and held her tightly, pressing his forehead against her scalp, letting the tips of her hairs brush his neck and make him shudder with sorrow and delight, all the while the rest of his exposed skin remained cool from the shadows of the alley in which they were ensconced. "I wasn't jealous, Kittie."

There was a long pause, and after a time, she said tentatively, "You weren't?"

"No, I wasn't."

"What was it then?"

Harry took a deep breath and sighed. "He reminded me of someone."

"Oh," she said, neither of them knowing how to proceed. They were like two stray leaves that had blown into a wasteland of barren rock, forced to flit about by the contesting winds, buffeted by all the forces that sought to control them, stiffly trying to refuse and failing.

Harry hadn't even thought about being jealous about Marv, the sight of him had taken Harry by such surprise. He doubted that it were actually Tom, for if it were, then he would be trying to usurp power and enslave. But then maybe he was trying to do that, Harry thought. After all, Tom waited decades to surface as the Dark Lord. He obviously has patience, in addition to cunning; a cunning Harry couldn't match. No, Harry wasn't going to beat Tom on his terms, or with any of the Slytherin skills with which he was so familiar. No, Harry would beat him with the things that made him a Gryffindor.

"Can I make a confession," Harry asked.

"Kittie glanced up at him warily. She furrowed her brow as if deciding how to respond to that question and then, apparently deciding, nodded.

"I would have been jealous if he flirted with you much longer." Harry smiled a playful, mischievous smile and then nuzzled his nose into her shoulder, causing her to giggle.

"Oh Harry!" she exclaimed, trying to pull away. "that tickles!" But harry would not be deterred. He gathered Kittie in his arms and held her tightly as if they would be separated by a great storm at any moment, and then leaned in close to kiss her. He let his shields down so she knew what he felt for her, and she gasped suddenly, whatever resistance she might have put up washing away in the torrent of his emotions. They kissed, an unseen energy billowing about the restless wind, carrying their intertwining scents through the air.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to the Harry Potter universe.

Chapter Three

The Thing

Kittie had been eight wen she had manifested her telepathic powers. She supposed, looking back, that if she had been older, things might have gone much more smoothly, but, as it happened, she hadn't been, and her naivete and youth had cost her dearly. Not that the sacrifices she had made had been a total loss. She had found solace in the new worlds, as she had taken to calling them, and she had been able to use her powers to evade difficult situations. She had discovered all manner of creatures, just as Harry had, and she had learned that one had to use all their strengths to survive. She had no superior stgrength, speed, stamina or agility to speak of, so she had taken to subterfuge, deceit, evasion.

Kittie could still remember with vivid clarity the first day she had heard another person's thoughts. She hadn't understood what was happening just then, and had responded out loud, the same way she had done countless times since, and the way she had done when she was with Harry. She could remember telling her parents. They had not been pleased. They had not been pleased one bit, and she had known it the very second the words had left her mouth, because she felt it oozing from them like a suffocating, black oil. It had stained her, that rejection, that sense of disconnection from the people she held dear. It had been a treasured secret of hers, sitting, listening in the playpark, watching the other kids, learning to understand what was really behind their masks. If they had known someone was with them in their darkest moments, she shuddered to think what they would have done in retaliation. They were all scarred people, and their scars had been transmitted to her.

She had learned things far beyond her years; the kind of things that she could write books about, though she never would. No, she had plenty of it in her thoughts, without having to share it and relive it in the open. And people would wonder where it all came from, and she would have no answers to their questions, so it seemed a bit pointless. She was alone. She was alone when she pilfered through her father's secrets; she was alone when she pilfered through her mother's. When Jessica was born, she knew why too. They wanted a normal child. It hadn't helped that, when she was eleven, she had accused them of it, and, while their faces plainly told her she was right, she saw two other things, more horrifying than anything she could have imagined. She had yelled at them, cursed at them, beat her fists in the air against them, because she wanted to punish them, but it hadn't worked. She knew that there wasn't a scintilla of remorse or guilt or grief. Just a grim satisfaction, and that had hurt. She knew then that they didn't love her; they were afraid of her, despite all her best efforts to please them, to show them she was a good girl and that she could keep her secret.

Kittie's apartment was made up of two rooms - a kitchen and a bedroom. It was modest, to say the least, but she didn't mind, because it was hers. It was a place where she could experience solitude; where her mind would be free of the clutter of other's thoughts. Where she knew that her emotions were her own. At this particular time, she needed that especially, because she found her own thoughts and emotions to be confusing enough without adding the collective memories of all the passerbys down below. From what she had glimpsed, roaming between worlds, these people all had sad tales of their own, some much sadder than her own. While that sometimes brought her comfort, to know that she was not the only one suffering, that there were people with whom she could comisserate, it did little to help her feel a connection to something beautiful. To feel the deep sense of love and belonging that she craved ever since she was eight, when that feeling had slowly begun to be robbed from her.

When she had first stumbled out of one reality and into another, she had been confused, to say the least. At first, she hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. Certainly, it wasn't like the way it was in her current environment, with clouds and roads that flashed all different colours. She had been in a place that was a lot like her old world. Grey and sad and full of apathy. She had wandered about aimlessly, reading people's thoughts, learning how to use her skills to manipulate people into getting food. Learning who was safe to approach and who she should avoid. The rich ones, the crazy ones, the dangerous and the destitute. Before her had spread out a wealth of information, and she started to learn. But her new education had come with a price, for she had made errors along the way. She had not realized that people could delude themselves, or hide their thoughts beneath a sea of lies. And so she had been hurt.

Her first inkling that something was wrong, was when she started to read thoughts about parallel worlds. She had dismissed these things as fanciful, though, now, looking back, she could still remember the contents of their thoughts. She must have believed on some level, she decided. After all, she had irrefutable proof that her childhood education was lacking in the areas of the supernatural, given her own unique skills.

Parallel worlds, Kittie mused. She had decided after a time that the idea that they were in a parallel universe was ridiculous. Having had access to so many people's thoughts; all their intimate moments, their musings, their travels, all spread out before her to read and analyze, she was in the most favourable position to gather, compile and analyze information on the subject. She had decided that her own world was the real world and these others were just fragments bound tenuously to it. They were all smaller, after all, and some of them seemed unstable, especially in light of the flashing colours, which she supposed was not a good sign. It was something of the real world blending through; something to do with the magic fluctuating. The more colourful a place was, the more other worlds were occupying the same space. She had started to regard the worlds as being spatially similar, but being out of sync, or phase-shifted, as she had gleaned from a passing physicist. She had decided that there was something about the main world, magic, she had called it, which lent itself to creating these pockets where others could pull themselves in. One of the biggest pieces of evidence for this was that the pockets were all subject to the inanimate objects of the main world. If a building in the main world got torn down, then it would have an impact on the sub-worlds. She had also learned, though, and this made it quite complicated, that the extent of the effect of changes in the main world varied between sub-worlds, which made her think that the subworlds, varied in their degree of proximity.

Not that any of these things mattered to the inhabitants of the Red Cherry, or to her, really. It had become a pastime of hers to gaze out her window and pick the thoughts from the passerbys down below. She had selected a room high up so that their thoughts did not intrude upon her immediately or consciously. No, she had to extend her mind down to them and lift them as one might use a bucket to collect water from a stream.

It had grown very tiring, actually, to be near people, or to communicate with them at all. Invariably, they would start lying to her at some point, and it would be clear. She knew she was pretty, and the lusting that most men felt for her sickened her. It sickened her, because what she wanted was something intangible, something abstract that would make her feel close to people. But she couldn't when she knew who they were really, how petty and self-absorbed they all were. Nobody spoke to her out of genuine concern. Especially not in these other worlds, which was ironic, because it was only here that her talent/curse could be accepted. It was only here that people didn't think her a freak. Or at least, they thought her a freak, but that was okay, because they were all freaks. And that was another thing, nobody "normal" ever stumbled into the subworlds. It was a refuge for the abject, though she supposed normal people probably just didn't survive long enough for her to run across them. It was a rough place, though it was also saturated with life and energy and people interested in doing things. It was rich with diversity. People from all different places and experiences and with any kind of tale you could imagine. It was a wonderland that way.

So when Harry had described his home place as being cold, it had struck a chord with her. Not that her fascination with him had started at that point. No, she wouldn't have even asked the question, which startled her as much as it had him. "So what was it like?" she had asked. She hadn't been topside in five years, and even then only briefly. She had decided then that there was nothing left for her there, and she would not return.

When he had first walked into the pub, she had felt him. He was a mix of things that didn't seem to go together. There was an alertness, a scanning for danger that was ever present, a fatigue, a sense that he was familiar with the drill, but curious at the same time. There was a distinct lack of surprise, a resignedness, a naivete and wonder she had only ever felt with children. There was a deep cold and a sorrow and a rage, but they were dormant, ever present and lying in wait. There was a resolve, a determination like that of a soldier of war. There was a feeling of desperation, but it felt stale, as though he had worn it for a long time. There were so many things, and, usually, when someone's emotions were so turbulent, they jumbled together to form an amorphous mass that stank of putrefaction, but with Harry, the thoughts and feelings were all distinct and came together like the scent of fresh cut grass, and maybe the smell of rain or of the sea.

It had been two days since she had sobbed uncontrollably into Harry's shoulder, all the while fearing him and needing him, the comfort of his arms, the warmth of his body. He seemed so little to look at, but within there was something intense brewing, and every fibre of her being told her to go to it, to let herself get swept up in it. That was why she was at home, trying to clear her thoughts. She hadn't needed anything in a long time. She had buried her feelings of discontentment so that, after a decade, she had grown numb to the feeling of emptiness. Harry had reawakened that void, and was telling her that an opportunity stood before her to fill it. With Harry. With his electric green eyes, his black, chronically mussed hair, his lean frame.

Get a grip, she told herself sternly, an old part of her reasserting itself. He's not some knight in shining armor. Just because he can hide his thoughts doesn't make him some kind of a saint. It just means you can't see what a monster he is, which you have anyway. He murdered people. Demons, true, but sentient beings, and you know he felt little remorse for it. You felt that, and so you know.

But he wouldn't do that to me.

Oh? that nasty part of her mind inquired in mock-innocence, a part which she had named Cassandra, for no reason in particular. Maybe not now, but what about tomorrow? Or the day after? The stronger eat the weaker.

Kittie sighed.

The latch on her apartment door clicked open, and she felt a familiar tingle enter. She continued her people gazing, feeling Marv come up behind her and enfold her in his arms. "Hey," he said.

"Hey yourself," she responded.

"How are you doing?"

"I'm alive," she said resignedly.

"You're thinking about that boy?"

Kittie said nothing, and a long silence ensued.

"Come," Marv beckoned, clasping one of his hands over hers and prying it gently from her body to lead her out of the apartment. "there's something I'd like to show you."

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?" she asked.

Marv shrugged, dazzling her with his smile. "took the day off."

"You know you can't afford to."

"I'm making it up tomorrow."

They walked down the steps together in silence, Kittie noticing how light of foot Marv was and how confident and steady he seemed skipping down the rickety wooden steps. Even now, she had never quite mastered it, with some of them being of different sizes and textures. Some of them weren't even flat, and worse, they seemed to change of their own accord, guided by whatever intricate bonds attached these worlds to one another.

The street was still full of sunshine, strangers still passing, by, though the flow had died down since rush hour. A busker had set up shop, playing two instruments with his body, one with his hands and one with his feet, which seemed to be impossibly long and wiry underneath navy blue dress socks. Marv led her in the direction of the Red Cherry, but before they got there, he turned and took her across the street to an old stone building that seemed oddly grey and lifeless amidst the violent colours of the street. It was the same building that Harry had tried to enter in pursuit of the blond woman and her apparent attacker.

"I thought you were going to take me to the Red Cherry," Kittie said, stepping over the threshold of the main doors and onto a plush red carpet.

"Now why would I do that?" Marv asked.

Kittie shrugged. "Figured you thought I might need some cheering up; maybe buy me a drink."

Marv smiled mischievously. "Or maybe give you an excuse to run into your biggest fan."

Kittie did not respond, aware that Marv was fishing, and not sure what to give him. "I don't know what you mean," she said, settling on feigning innocence.

"Oh come on, it's obvious. He spends more time looking at the door to see if you're going to walk through than he does looking at the chairs he's supposed to be polishing."

"Has he been performing poorly at his job?" Kittie asked, still as innocently as she could, having schooled her features into neutrality.

"That's the funny thing," Marv mused. "I look and he ain't ever working, but then he gets it all done anyway, and in record time."

Kittie nodded. "I see."

"But then it's not really a surprise, is it?" Marv asked pointedly. "I mean, we all heard about that thing at the demon cafe. A couple of the victims were still alive long enough to identify him, before they died of whatever he did to them. One of the doctors from the homeopathic clinic says it's poison, but he can't figure out what kind. Super deadly, he said, whatever it was. And not ingested, either. Could've believed the kid to have poisoned their coffee, or tried to, but there were bite marks to. Lots of them, like fangs." Marv shivered noticeably. "Makes you wonder."

"Indeed," Kittie nodded again. "Makes you wonder."

Marv glanced at her slyly. "You wouldn't happen to be avoiding him, would you? Didn't see you around the last couple of days. Is it because of him? You know Stu wouldn't stand for that."

"Harry's nice enough," Kittie said vaguely.

They had gone down two narrow corridors, and, to Kittie's realization, they were descending ever more slowly, until they came to a set of steps. "We're going to the basement," Marv announced quietly.

"Marv, are we supposed to be here?" Kittie asked, suddenly nervous.

"I don't know," Marv replied truthfully. "But I found something, and I went to check it out, and it led me here."

"What did you find?" Kittie asked.

Marv turned to her, his expression one so intense that Kittie flinched. There was something red in those eyes. a glint of some kind of superior intelligence at work. "Blood," he said, and then turned and went through the doorway.

Blood, she thought, and then picked from his thoughts, the phrase, Blood trailing all the way from the outside in here and down this way. And not just blood, but some sort of silvery liquid.

Suddenly, Kittie was very nervous. She kept her mental probes alert at all times, feeling for the arrival of any sentient beings that could come from any directions. She trusted Marv implicitly, because he had been at the Red Cherry for years, and because he was friends with Stu and Jack. More importantly, she trusted him, because he had always had nice thoughts about her; thoughts that were devoid of sexual content except perhaps for some appraisals of her figure, which she didn't mind, because they were always clinical and detached, the way someone thought a sunrise was beautiful. She had learned long ago to tune his thoughts and feelings out. Though they radiated from him as normally as they did from anyone else, his were so incredibly banal that she found it easy not to think about what he was thinking.

The stairwway was lit by incandescents that flickered ominously, emitting a pale yellow that turned the fingerprint smudges and chipped areas of the walls into a sickly-looking picture of decay.

The stairwell ended in a door marked with a big sign that read: STAFF ONLY. Kittie couldn't remember seeing any indications of a business operation in the building before, though it seemed as though they had walked through most of it. There hadn't even been offices or a space large enough to hold an office, let alone employees to populate it. Marv pushed on ahead, saying in a hushed whisper. "I wouldn't have even bothered except that I saw Harry looking quizzically at this building for some time yesterday, while he was supposed to be wiping the glasses down. And that made me look at it for the first time. Funny, I never really noticed the building from the outside. It's like it was never really there, but it's so different from all the others. It doesn't flash colours, and it's unmarked. And then when I got close to it, I could see only darkness inside through the windows, which appeared cracked from the outside. Did you notice they don't appear cracked from the inside?" he asked, and then continued without pause. "And I saw that blood and I just knew I had to investigate. It's like it was asking me to."

"You said Harry was looking at it?"

Marv nodded, though now they were surrounded in darkness, save for light from the stairwell spilling in through the doorway in a shaft that barely reached their faces. Kittie imagined they were in another hallway. She could feel the claustrophobia she usually got from walls that were too close. Somewhere in the dark there was the muffled hiss of escaping gas, which was punctuated by a low, equally-muffled thumping sound, like a badger thwacking its tail against smooth concrete.

They reached a doorway. Kittie could tell because light faintly pulsed from beyond, illuminating the edges, save for the two spots where the hinges were placed.

"We're here," Marv whispered.

Kittie couldn't see either of them, but she was fairly certain by the timbre of his voice that he was as pale as she felt. "I'm ready," she whispered back, feeling that she wasn't ready at all. How had this happened? She suddenly wished Harry were with them.

Marv opened the door and they entered a circular stone chamber with small torches appended to the walls at eight different points. Each torch was lit and emitting green fire, which was spooky enough. What was worse was that the stone walls were jagged, as if the chamber were naturally made and the building had simply been built on top of it, which would have been okay, except that the rough walls were tinged with that eerie silver colour that Kittie guessed had accompanied the trail of blood. One look at Marv confirmed her suspicions.

Even worse than all of that was what lay at the centre of the room. The chamber was about ten metres in diameter with a two metre wide path carved around the edge. At the center was a six metre wide circular hole, within which a wine-red liquid roiled about, bubbles bursting intermittently, spraying the floor. The liquid looked warm, possibly boiling even, though Kittie couldn't tell. Certainly she could feel warmth wafting up from it, filling the room with asuffocating humidity, like what she might expect an incubation chamber to feel like. What was odd about the turbulence in the liquid was that it was uneven, as if things were moving about down below, causing the currents to shift according to their irrecular movements. Sentient things, like fish.

"That's blood," isn't it, Kittie said suddenly, pointing to the liquid.

"I don't know," Marv replied, mesmerized by the sight.

Kittie could say no more. She didn't even know what she was looking at, except that it seemed horrid, whatever it was. And that's when she decided to reach her mind down to the liquid, to see if there truly were beings down below. Even if they weren't as cerebral as humans, they would still be cognizable as series of jumbled emotions and momentary comprehensions of their environment.

What she opened up her mind to was not something she could describe, in part because it did not lend itself to words, and in part because it overwhelmed her in that same suffocating way that the chamber overwhelmed her normal senses. Kittie's eyes widened as her internal alarm senses went off and she tried to shut down the link. Doing so, however, proved to be difficult. She felt attached to the things down there, as though they had gripped back hungrily, paralyzing her mental motor control functions the way exposure to electricity paralyzes the nervous system.

Whatever was down in the pool of red liquid, it was neither human nor animal - at least not in the way that Kittie had come to associate with the two. It had the singular focus that animals tended to have, though, while animals tended to have thoughts only regarding its immediate surroundings, the things down there seemed to drift to one thing and one thing alone. Visions of gruesome carnage, of death, of mutilated human torsos flickered through the minds of the creatures that were down below. Alongside the constant rhythm of malevolence was also a malicious glee. They're fantasizing about maiming humans, Kittie realized. She wondered if they were asleep, but even as she thought it, she knew they were. There was something relaxed about their posture that made her think they were dormant. Kittie tried to pull her mind away gently but firmly, but it seemed like her mental responses were completely locked. She couldn't understand why, unless... Unless they're telepaths too, Cassandra said. Ooh, little Kittie's gotten herself into a spot of trouble, hasn't she? Cassandra crowed with delight.

Shut up," Kittie thought irritably. "It's your mind too, you know.

All of a sudden, Kittie felt herself flung back to her body, where, when she looked up, realized that Marv was gazing down at her with an expression of concern on his face. "Kittie?" he asked softly. Kittie was aware that she was in his arms, probably because the link must have drained her of much of her physical energy.

Don't think about that now, she admonished herself. She had been thrown back from that horrible place, and there had been a reason for it. Yes, she thought, thinking back to her last moment with the link. There had been a distinct thought the creatures were having. What was it?

Kittie's eyes widened suddenly in comprehension, and she clutched at Marv's body for support. That feeling they had was so familiar, and she understood what it was. Recognition. "Marv," she whispered urgently. "They know we're here!"

This phrase, however, did not instil in Marv the same level of panic that Kittie felt. In fact, he looked downright confused. Kittie glanced out the corner of her eye and saw that the turbulence in the pool had increased and was continuing to do so at an alarming rate. Marv's eyes followed hers, and she saw that he understood at once what she had meant.

"You mean there's something down there and it knows we're up here," Marv said with realization. And then, still processing, he asked. "Is it - are they... dangerous?"

Kittie nodded, her gaze flitting between Marv and the pool. They both proceeded to back up against the wall and edge toward the doorway. Blood was sloshing around on the floor rather readily. In fact, to Kittie's horror, the blood level was rising so that it was now pooling at their feet. Kittie heard Marv fiddle with the door-lock, aware from the amount of fumbling he was doing just how nervous he was. He managed to get it open, and they both pushed their way through. As they closed the door behind them, Kittie caught a last glimpse of the pool. One claw-like extremity had thrown itself over the edge, as if whatever it was that was down there was pulling itself up by its arms. Only its arm, Kittie thought, looked less like a human arm and more like a large piece of ginger beef that had been lathered in sweet and sour sauce.

The door swung shut, leaving Marv and Kittie in relative darkness. They held each other for a moment, relishing the quietude. Then, aware suddenly that the danger may not be over, they both burst into a sprint down the hall, crossing the doorway and throwing themselves up the stairwell.

"Wait!" Kittie hissed, grabbing Marv's arm and keeping him from running through the next doorway and into the hall. Marv stopped and looked at her intently.

"There's people on the other side of the door."

Marv glanced from Kittie to the doorway, unsure of where to take them.

"They're coming closer," Kittie hissed, and then pulled on Marv's arm, taking him up another flight of stairs. Just as they reached the second floor, they heard people come through the door below. It was two men, and they were talking in normal tones.

"Listen, Roger," said the first man impatiently, "I don't want to hear all this nonsense. Tell me, did it work or didn't it?"

"It's not that simple, Trent," Roger responded. "Things have changed. Certainly it's not what we expected, but it has values elsewhere."

"I believe it's my responsibility to be the judge of that, Roger," Trent said in an irritated tone. "You just show me what we have, and I'll make the decisions about where it goes."

The two men descended the stairwell and disappeared through the bottom door.

"They're going to go see that thing," Kittie said softly.

"I know," Marv agreed.

"What if they don't know that it's climbed out?"

"Listen, Kittie. We don't know if it's climbed out either. It may have gone back inside."

"Don't you think we should warn them?"

Marv, sighed, and closed his eyes. Finally, after a long pause, he said, "I don't want to go back there. I'm sorry I came at all."

Kittie nodded, appreciating his candor. "Maybe we should just make a ruckus and let them know they're not alone. Then they can decide for themselves."

Marv considered it and then nodded. "Okay. I'll go."

"We'll go together," Kittie said. "I can read their thoughts."

The two went downstairs and crept closer to the door. He looked questioningly at Kittie.

"I don't feel anything," she whispered.

Marv opened the door and they peered down the dark hallway. "Oy!" Marv shouted.

There was no response.

Kittie gasped, attracting Marv's attention.

"Kittie?"

"Oh, God," she moaned. "It's... it's so happy." Kittie was not aware that Marv was incredibly confused by this statement, because she felt so horrible for having awoken it in the first place. She knew from having been in its thoughts that it could only be that happy if it had found human meat to prey upon. No, it found live human meat, she thought grimly. It was important that they were alive.

They both then heard a loud thump from the door on the other side. It echoed hollowly through the corridor, sending shivers down Kittie's spine. "Let's get out of here," Marv said grimly. When they were halfway up the stairs, they heard the door on the far side of the corridor give way in a loud crash down below. Kittie and Marv exchanged a look of horror and then hurried away.

The sun had reached its zenith by the time they made it outside. A couple were strolling along, hand in hand, smiling and laughing, not having a care in the world. One of them was in a pinstripe suit and the other in a frock. Kittie imagined they had a life together, that they had always been happy, and that each day they had together was better than the one before, as they moved steadily closer to all their dreams and hopes. Kittie picked a thought from their minds, out of curiosity. It was a mundane one. Apparently they were on their lunch break.

"Kittie?" Marv asked.

"Hmm?" Kittie responded.

"I'm sorry."

Kittie did not respond, because she did not know how to. She was sorry too, but she wasn't sure for what. People died all the time in the outworlds. Harry had killed half a dozen or so the other day, and he wasn't the first. It was a place of apparent lawlessness to the casual onlooker. Especially an onlooker from the real world. Kittie and its inhabitants knew better though. There were more rules here than where she had come from. Harry would have been pushed around from place to place, and probably killed if he hadn't stood up for himself. Now people were afraid of him, and rightly so. He claimed a bit of power and authority by killing those demons. He gained respect. That was one of the first laws in the outworlds. Power equalled authority. But I'm still sorry, she thought. I never wanted to be one of those murderers.

"Are you okay?" Marv was asking tentatively. He put an arm on her shoulder and she felt his concern radiate through her like a pulse.

"I'm fine. Just a bit hungry."

"Would you like to pop in at the Red Cherry for a bite with me?"

"Kittie smiled. 'I thought you would have eaten there often enough. Let's maybe go elsewhere."

"He shrugged. "it's just that I get a good deal there. Things're pretty expensive 'round here. And I'm not anything big. You know they push me around at the demon clubs and other places."

"There's a regular lunch place a couple blocks down and behind the main road on Allister Alley. I'll take you there. It'll even be my treat."

"No, I should do the honours. It was my screwup."

"Don't say that," Kittie admonished. "I woke it up." She let that sentiment hang in the air as they went for lunch.

Creepers was an inconspicuous place all around. It survived the dangers of the outworlds by keping a low profile. It was located behind the main street, served inconspicuous food, mostly vegetarian, at moderate prices. There was nothing unique about its design or layout, or the people who ran it or worked at the counters. Kittie ordered a quiche and salad and Marv ordered soupe and a vegetable sandwich. They took seats at a small table at the far end, which was not readily visible to most people in the cafe.

"So what do you suppose it was?" Marv asked.

Kittie shook her head. She had told Marv what her mind-link had shown her, and he was as baffled as she was. "You know that just about anything is possible around here," she said finally. "I imagine it's just another freak around these parts."

"But it's a violent one. And strong too," Marv said, voicing her concerns as well.

Kittie did not have an answer. "Yes, well, if it gets enough people angry, they'll retaliate and I'm sure we can take care of it. Maybe it'll just go back into its hole and not come out."

Marv nodded thoughtfully. 'have you thought about what those men said?"

Kittie had been trying not to. "No."

"It sounds like they knew about it and were expecting something. Only they found something else. It makes you wonder."

"Wonder what?" Kittie asked.

"They didn't run across it by surprise."

"you mean maybe they made it?"

"Or brought it here," Marv said. "I don't know much about these portals, but maybe that thing down there is another one."

"Yeah," Kittie said. "I don't know, but I'd like to stay aways away from that place. It knew I was in its head, and that frightens me more than anything."

Marv nodded. "Okay. We can talk about something else."

"yes, please," Kittie said, sighing.

Marv adopted that mischievous glint in his eyes yet again. "Let's talk about Harry."

Kittie threw up her arms in exasperation. "Oh no! Please, let's not."

"You like him," Marv said knowingly, his scrutinizing gaze fixed on her.

Kittie sighed again and said nothing.

"I don't have to be a telepath, you know. Why are you so reluctant to admit it?"

"I don't know," she said ruefully. "I just... I just don't think I need this right now."

"He doesn't like me," Marv commented.

Kittie's head shot up and fixed a stern glare on Marv. "Did he say that to you?"

Marv shook his head. "Again, I don't have to be a telepath. I can just tell he's wary around me."

Kittie slumped her shoulders. "I don't understand why. I asked, and he said you remind him of someone. I could understand that when he met you the first time, but it seems a bit silly."

"you think he's jealous?"

"He says he's not."

Marv considered this for a time, so they sat in silence, eating their respective meals. Then he brightened up and said, "Well, why don't we all go out together. Maybe I'll ask Lizzie from the Candle shop. I think she's been eyeing me. We can do a double-date."

Kittie raised an eyebrow. "Are you serious?"

Marv nodded. "Maybe then we can settle it all in the open. You know, over dinner."

"I don't know...," Kittie began, still trying to process the idea. She had never been on a date before and certainly not a double-date. "Won't he want our first date to be a solo affair?"

Marv shook his head. Double-dates are common for first-timers. It helps you to relax knowing that your friends are about. Kind of like moral support and coaches all wrapped up into one."

"What if he doesn't agree?"

"You do like him!" Marv exclaimed. "A lot!"

"I do not!"

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

"Ooh, men!" Kittie said. "you're all impossible!"

Marv's smile broadened further. "So it's settled. I'll ask Lizzie out after lunch and you ask Harry at the same time. They've got him cleaning stuff during the day and doing kitchen work at night. He's lean and able though, so Stu wants him doing serving work soon. Maybe after the demons stop grumbling in the background. Stu doesn't want trouble from them, especially after Harry's gone."

"has that caused the Red Cherry some problems?" Kittie asked.

Marv shook his head. "Stu's pretty smart. No one's upset with him for hiring Harry in the first place. He did that before harry went on a rampage. Demons have enough sense to know that Harry's a business venture to Stu, and nothing more. As long as Stue keeps some distance between himself and Harry. As long as he doesn't go out on a limb for the kid, the demons won't hold it against the establishment. As for others, well, the demons were never that popular to begin with. They can be a bit of a rowdy, selfcentered bunch, which is what got them in trouble in the first place. Most people know that. Harry's probably made some silent allies, if he plays his cards right. After all, the demons have made their share of enemies in the past."

"Will he?" Kittie asked. "Play his cards right, I mean."

"Dunno. Probably not. He doesn't look like the sly type. All braun and no brains, if you ask me. But then again, I'm not exactly his confidant."

Kittie nodded. "Yeah, well, if he had been smart, he would have asked what places were safe, instead of wandering aimlessly into any old place."

"And how shrewd were you when you got here?" Marv asked coyly.

"That's different. I was thirteen. And I didn't have the finessed control over my powers that I do now."

Marv put his hands up in supplication. "Just pointing out that you can't expect everyone to be distrustful and suspicious of everything."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it. He had already been chased by vampires and nearly killed by Jack. He should have known to take it easy and let someone guide him about."

"A guide, eh? Maybe you were hoping he would see if you were up to the task?" Marv dodged a playful punch and downed the last of his soup. He stood and said, "Come on, let's go see about a boy."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to the Harry Potter Universe.

Chapter Four

The Date

Harry had entered the Red Cherry with his mind swimming with information. Kittie had run away from him after her confessions in his arms, and he had barely begun to process what had happened, let alone what it all meant. Stu had promptly driven all thoughts of Kittie, however, from his mind, or at least, had driven them as far as anyone could, given the circumstances. Harry had been put to work.

"Now see here, kid," Stu had begun. "We run a very posh establishment. The who's who of our little nest comes here and dines each week. Sometimes we get famous types, and others we get rich ones. We need this place to look beautiful each and everyday, because you never know when company's coming. You got me?"

"I understand," Harry affirmed.

"Good. So your job is to make sure this place gleams everyday, all the time. See here, you're going to inspect each glass so that it's clean. And after you've checked they're clean, you're going to double-check to make sure that they're shiny too. And the bar, and the stools and even the undersides. You never know when someone's going to drop something and have to bend over to pick it up. And then they're going to notice what kind of an establishment the Red Cherry really is."

"Sir, do I have to clean the backrooms?" Harry asked.

"Absolutely," Stu said, missing Harry's moment of revulsion. He went on, "The bathrooms, the backrooms, everything. You gotta clean the tables, the floors the walls. Even if nothing's been spilt, you gotta clean the fingerprints off, the breath, the smells, all of it. Clean it no matter what. Again and again."

"Anything else?' Harry asked.

"Oh, yes. the final things. We'll be having you do the kitchens too. If you're up to it. Cleaning the dishes, and what not. You can be a bit more lax in here about the walls, floors and what not. Just make sure that whatever goes out to the front, utensils, glasses, anything. That stuff has to be spotless. That understood?"

Harry nodded.

"Okay, let me introduce you to the head chef, Gaston." Stu and Harry stopped in front of a large, stout fellow with a giant chef's hat balanced on his head, from which thick curls of black hair sprouted from all directions. "Harry, I want you to meet Gaston. When you come in tonight - start at about six - he'll show you how the kitchen staff are organized and where you are in the lineup. If you get good in the kitchens, you might be promoted to line cook, and, one day, even server."

Harry grimaced inwardly. It'll be a cold day in Hell before I spend that long here, he thought. If a portal home hadn't opened in two weeks, he was going to chance jumping through one at random. He had horcruxes to find.

So Harry set to work, cleaning regularly, and waiting and watching for Kittie. He had asked around, tried to figure out when he might next expect her to come in. After a day had passed, he decided she wasn't going to. He had hoped secretly that she wouldn't be able to stay away and that she would come in just to see him, to say hi, to tell him she was thinking of him, that she couldn't get him out of her mind the way he couldn't get her out of his. But that didn't appear to be the case. She just needs time, he told himself, to sort herself out. She's not a simple girl (like Minnie). All the while, harry stole glances out the front windows, taking extra time to clean the tables that afforded him the best view of the street.

When no one was looking, Harry tended to use magic to clean things. He found himself almost always dawdling, waiting for people to go elsewhere. During the day, it was rather easy since the place was empty. The bathroom he almost never used his hands. It had grown very difficult though come evenings, and he had started to concentrate on doing the work by hand so that he wouldn't get lazy. Motivated to hurry up, however, he found himself performing increasingly more acts of wandless magic. At first, they were spontaneous, like causing the dishsoap to fall over into the sink before he had reached for it, and then it had been summoning cups to him. Fortunately, after the first few, he had been able to keep a constant guard and deploy his seeker instincts to catch anything fragile that he accidentally summoned. By the third day of work, he was consciously directing his mind to clean plates wandlessly and magically. This, he decided, was a very good thing, because it allowed him to keep his wand hidden.

It had never occurred to him how easy it was for people to take his wand away. Wizards avoided manual labour like the plague, and consequently, they didn't know the first thing about hand-to-hand combat. He thought of how easy it would be to snatch someone's wand from a foot away, the way Jack had thoughtlessly knocked Harry off his feet the first day he got there. Harry hadn't had time to utter the full body bind. And Jack hadn't even known about his wand. At least not fully. Yes, Harry had to get a grip on his wandless magic. If he could summon his wand after it had been taken, or break ropes and open locked doors. Just those things would be enough. At least for now, to give him some reassurance. As it were, his only practice was summoning dishes surreptitiously. Apart from that, he was only getting experience vanishing and Scourgifying things. That was fine enough for him, since it didn't appear that the demons were looking for revenge. he also seemed safe enough whenever he was inside the Red Cherry. Once, he had ventured outside and, to his horror, had run across Jilly, who, he noticed as she fled with a look of abject terror on her face, that she was limping and one arm seemed to be hanging uselessly at her side.

On his third day, Harry found himself in the kitchen alone, which, he decided, would become a common occurrence for him. The kitchen typically had no one in it at this time of day, since the Red Cherry was only open for dinner as a rule, though people could come in for an afternoon drink if they so chose. The bar, fortunately, was completely separate and no one ever had to actually go into the kitchen for anything. Often times, unless it was looking to be really busy or there was a special event, which was never, as Harry understood it, the kitchen lay dormant and unused for much of the day. That's why Harry found himself in it. He aimed his fingers at the door and focused on locking it. he found that the more difficult the spell, the more he would have to focus and the longer it would take for him to cast the spell. He shuddered to think how much time and energy it would take to cast something like the Patronus Charm. Hours, maybe. Days, even. Harry then used his wand to cast the Imperturbable Charm and proceeded to hurl dishes with his hand, banishing them to the far wall and then summoning them back. Sometimes he would let them crash and then repair them, and sometimes he would hit the glasses with the impediment jinx before they got that far. And he did it all wandlessly. he had taken to whispering the spells when he did them normally, and found that they got progressively harder the quiter he said them. he also found that, with practice, he could bolster his focus so that he could increase the potency of the spell even when he was being quiet. And, with that, he was growing to use magic both wandlessly and silently.

And all because I have the freedom to do magic and the responsibility of doing manual labour, he thought, sending two plates hurtling toward the far wall. he chased them with an impediment jinx that he sliced in half. Both the plates were hit by the jinxes, but, instead of slowing them to an undetectable crawl, they both merely slowed to a sluggish walk. Harry watched interestedly as they bounced off the wall, which promptly broke both the spells, causing the plates to fall normally to the ground. There they broke, as he expected.

Before he could muster the focus to fix them, there was a knock at the kitchen door. harry's head snapped up, his eyes searching. He knew that everyone was off today, since it was a Wednesday and the place was particularly dead on Wednesdays. Apparently they didn't offer the usual happy hour entreaties, and that disinclined patrons to come on a Wednesday. Harry heard the person knock again, but he ignored them. Instead, he took to repairing the plates and guiding them with the levitation charm to their place on one of the shelves. Harry then pointed his wand and said, "Finite incantanum." He put his wand away and stared at the door expectantly. "Come in," he called finally.

He saw Kittie poke her head in through the doorway hesitantly. "Hey," she said.

Harry was surprised, to say the least. "Hey," he responded, his brain promptly having taken a vacation.

"I was just wondering how you were doing."

"Good," he managed. "You?"

"Good," she said in a rather high voice. "Couldn't be better."

After a moment of staring at one another, only Kittie's head visible through the partially open door, Harry's brain managed to spit out, "Would you like to come in?"

"Um, yes," Kittie agreed. "Sure." She entered the kitchen so that she could face him fully. "The door was locked," she explained. "I wasn't sure if maybe you were doing something." With that, Kittie looked around to spy after whatever it was that Harry could have been doing alone in the kitchen, with, as he very well knew, nothing to do.

"No, I was just doing a spot of cleaning, and looking around to make sure everything was in order," Harry lied. "Haven't had much to do these last couple of days." He thought he saw her wince a little at that last comment, which some nasty part of him had directed at her in order to accuse her of abandoning him and playing with his feelings.

"Oh, okay," she said quietly.

Another silence fell, leaving Harry to marvel at the intensity of her dark eyes. He wanted to throw something at the wall; another plate maybe. He wanted to collect her in his arms and hold her, sing her lullabies and stories of other places, to spill his feelings in a torrent of words and soft caresses. But he felt rooted to the spot, unsure of her feelings towards him, unsure that she wanted him to come. He wanted her to stay, but it was killing him, forcing this space between them, a space he didn't understand. Why can't I be close to you? he asked in his mind, letting his shields down so she could feel the question through her telepathy.

She did not appear to notice the question though, and instead had turned her gaze to the door, which she was now scrutinizing avidly. Harry followed her to the object in question until he found what it was that had attracted her attention. Instinctively, he scowled and erected his shields. The door that he had locked using magic did not, as he was now realizing, have a lock on it.

"Harry, how did you-?" She looked up at him in puzzlement, but silenced herself in the middle of the question. Looking at his grim expression and feeling that nothing was coming from the link, she knew that he had placed himself on guard again, and that her inquiries would be met with a blank wall. Kittie switched gears and asked, instead, "How do you expect us to be close, when you keep these secrets from me?"

Harry had the good grace to look down at his shoes with an expression of shame on his face. "I don't know," he mumbled truthfully. "I just know that I'd rather not talk about it. It's... painful." When Harry looked up to meet her gaze once more, he saw that there was a silent understanding there. We all have our demons, I suppose, he thought.

"I was wondering if you would like to maybe go out for dinner this evening," Kitie said in a rush. then she added, "if you're not working, of course."

Immediately, Harry's eyes lit up. "Of course! I mean, I am working, but it's okay. I'll arrange it with Stu. I'm sure he won't mind if I take one night off." Harry decided that he would throw a few extra spells around just in case, and make sure that everything was spotless and resistant to uncleanliness. It wouldn't do if Stu decided he were necessary and tried to take steps to ensure that Harry stuck around at the Red Cherry. I have to make myself look less valuable, he thought. Yes, he was certain that he couldn't show people the extent of his magical abilities. They would probably have him cleaning the toilets for the rest of his life.

"Okay, that's good," she said, giving him a snmile that went to her eyes. "That's good." I should also let you know that Marv and his girlfriend are going to be joining us. It's their first date too, and I thought it would be nice if-"

"Marv?" Harry asked, his expression turning dangerously alert.

"Um, yes," Kittie said, trying to pick up where she left off. "It's their first time out and - and - oh Harry! Dammit! He's a friend of mine! Why do you have to be like this?"

"Like what?" He asked defensively, aware all too well that his face had probably contorted into that scowl.

"He reminds you of someone!" she said accusingly. "That doesn't mean he is that person! Why can't you just let it go? He's always been good to me!"

Harry felt duly chastened for his antagonism, but he couldn't let his reservations go. "I'm sorry," Harry said. "It's not that easy to let these things go, sometimes. He just... brings to mind so many bad memories." That was at least partly true. Harry wasn't quite prepared to share his suspicions with himself, let alone Kittie. It seemed generally preposterous, especially since this Marv character seemed so well-adjusted and polite and friendly with muggles.

Kittie's expression softened and she came closer to him. Before Harry knew it, he felt her arms around him, enfolding him in the warm blanket of her body. "What bad memories," she asked softly.

The touch of her embrace felt intense to Harry; it felt like it were too much to bear. It felt like it were a million years of love and belonging and understanding and comfort and empathy, and it was so familiar that he couldn't understand why he hadn't shared all his sorrows with her before. "murdered my mum," Harry said, choking on the words. With that one phrase, Harry felt like all the dams and protections he had put on his emotions, all the reins and bridles since he had cracked in front of the Mirror of Erised, came crashing down before him. He began to cry. "Murdered my mum," he said again, now openly crying into Kittie's shoulder. "And my dad. My Godfather. And, last month, he - he-" Harry felt the waves of sorrow rise a notch within him as he thought of Voldemort's most recent victim, Dumbledore. Despite the times that Dumbledore hadn't been there in the past, and despite how angry he was at the old headmaster for his fifth year, Harry knew deep down in his heart of hearts that Dumbledore had always protected Harry to the best of his abilities. Dumbledore had loved harry like a grandson, and harry had loved him back, had trusted him implicitly to hold Harry's interests in high regard. "Murdered my - guardian last month. Right in front of me, just like Sirius, just like my parents. Keeps killing everyone I ever loved." Harry felt himself clinging to Kittie for dear life, and under the weight of all his burdens and sorrows, they both fell to their knees, Harry still clutching her, still sobbing in her shoulder. "He's been trying to kill me ever since I was a baby," Harry wailed tearfully. "And every time, someone's stopped him. First it was my dad - I have only one memory of him. I hear him telling my mother to flee with me while he holds him off. He smashed my parent's house to smithereens that night. And then, he killed my mum. It's the only memory I have of her too. It's the only one I'll ever have. She was running and fell to her knees, still clutching me in her arms, and he came right up to her and told her to step aside. He would have spared her life, but... she loved me so much, she said no, and refused to back down. She protected me with her body. It was the last thing she could do to defend me, even if it was pointless, and he killed her without a moment's thought. And then he tried to kill me, but she had bought me enough time and he got scared off. And then they sent me away to live with strangers for my life, so that he couldn't find me, only he would always find me." Harry clutched at her more tightly. "He always finds me," Harry repeated in a whisper. "He murdered my godfather last year, right before my eyes. I still remember the expression of surprise on Sirius's face. he was defending me and then he got hit and fell, and, and, they never recovered his body." harry fell limp in her arms, having no more strength left in his limbs. He said the rest with quiet resignation in his voice, "Then, last month, he murdered Dumbledore. Dumbledore's the one who sent me away into hiding. He's always been there to protect me. He fought off Voldemort after Sirius died and now he's gone. He was murdered by his own friends, who betrayed him. Murdered in front of me, just like Sirius, and I watched his killer go free, helpless to stop it. He'll come after my friends next; he'll come after me. He'll never stop. I have to kill him, somehow. I have to hunt him down and stop him before he hurts anyone else." In that last sentence, Harry felt the old, hardened resolve that he had felt all his life in the face of insurmountable adversities. Yes, he would never stop. he would always keep fighting, because he had to. He was crazy with that righteous anger; it was an eternal torch in his heart, like the memory of all his loved ones. As long as you never forget them, he told himself quietly. Never forget them. "I'll never forget them," he echoed softly. "I'll never stop hunting him; I'll never forget them. Never."

Between the magical exertion of his wandless training and his tirade about his life history, Harry promptly fell asleep, his head sliding into Kittie's lap, leaving his arms still wrapped around her torso, hers wrapped protectively over his. Kittie was stunned, to say the least. She didn't know what she had expected to gain from pushing him - she hadn't even thought he would open up. She supposed, reflecting back, she would have expected that Marv looked like some schoolyard bully that had tormented Harry about wearing goofy-looking glasses and oversized clothes. Now she saw that those things, the goofy glasses and oversized clothes, were products of harry's complete disinterest from such petty things. He had problems way bigger than anything she had had before. Problems she couldn't properly comprehend, and for which she felt duly chastened berating Harry for his behaviour. Kittie gently stroked Harry's messy black hair, trying idly to straighten it out. She had only barely begun to process all the things he had said. Parents murdered, sent into hiding, hunted down... she instinctively shivered at the images that his words brought to her mind. Parents murdered, went into hiding... hunted down, her thoughts echoed, as if tasting the sound of the words in her head. What kind of life have you lived? she wondered. My Harry.

Kittie glanced around nervously, suddenly aware of how exposed they were. What if this predator followed Harry here? Cassandra asked softly. Your life and the lives of your friends are in danger.

Kittie shook that nasty bit of self-indulgent thinking from her mind. No, they were all safe here. Harry was in another world, miles away from his predator. He's safer here than anyone could have imagined back home, she thought. Maybe it's better he's here. Maybe it's better we're all here. Kittie didn't have answers to those questions, but she felt suddenly certain that she would be there for Harry. She would be another protector of his, just like his parents and these Sirius and Dumbledore characters. I'll keep you safe, she thought. I'll keep you safe too, Harry. And so, there they sat for a long time, on the tiled kitchen floor that had recently been cleaned by none other than Harry himself, Kittie stroking his hair lovingly, looking at him with a kind of maternal affection, resolving herself to follow Harry's fate. She couldn't understand why she wanted to, except that he seemed like the kind of person that she would be proud to die for; the kind of person who would lead her into a war that made her life mean something.

But for now, they would go on a double-date and have fun, because, that, she decided, was important too, and Harry was in need of a great deal of fun. That would be her first step to protecting him.

Kittie took off her vest and covered Harry with it. Then she took her purse, puffed it up and gently laid Harry's head down on it as if it were a pillow. Once having made sure that he was perfectly comfortable, she took a scrap of paper and a pen and wrote down directions to her flat, and a note instructing him to come by at about six thirty. She then took his glasses off, folded them and inserted the note between the arms of the glasses and setting them down on the countertop. Satisfied that harry would get the rest he needed and and that he would come by the note when he awoke, she left the Red Cherry and made sure to flip the open sign to read closed. Nobody was going to come in anyway, so it didn't matter, she decided. Kittie then went home to get dressed and wait for her date.

Harry awoke with a start some time later. He felt unpleasantly stiff, and disoriented from the sight of fluorescent lights and all-bright countertops rising up around him. He even saw a rack of knives and a giant soup ladle. Where the hell am I? he asked. Rolling onto his stomach, he was aware of the cold tile floor, and, somehow, the sight of it jogged his memory to the last few moments before sleep had taken him. What had he done? He'd broken down like a little baby and cried all over Kittie's shoulder, whining about all his stupid problems, making himself seem like a grand victim. Harry groaned. She's going to hate me now. She'll either think I'm some kind of pity-mongerer, or a lunatic, or a danger. Or worse, a charity case. Harry got to his feet and looked around, spying blearily his glasses, which were sitting innocently on the main counter. Harry picked up Kittie's jacket and purse, and, realizing that she wouldn't have left those things if she hated him, his spirits brightened a little. Harry then collected his glasses and saw the note slip out, which he promptly snatched and absorbed at instantaneous speed. "Six thirty," he muttered aloud, checking his watch instinctively only to discover that he didn't have one. "Damn tournament," he muttered.

Harry checked a nearby clock. Six.

He then double-checked his note and decided that she didn't live that far. Let's just hope I don't get waylaid en route, he thought disconsolately. It wouldn't be the first time. And with that, Harry set off to clean himself up, have a tall glass of water, use the bathroom, wipe his face down, clean his teeth, fix his clothes and so on and so on. Finally, he scoured the place for anything unclean, cast a few mild impervious charms, his mind flicking back briefly to that moment in third year when he, through his water-soaked vision, saw Hermione, his friend and guardian angel loom into view, her hair and cheeks wind-swept, her eyes shining with that determination that impelled her to try and free house elves. Harry smiled, momentarily, but then it faded. What are you doing here, harry? a voice inside him asked. She needs you. They all need you and you're going on a date with some floozy in another world?

Harry shook himself free of that thought. It was just for tonight, and he, for one, was not going to throw away an opportunity to have a nice evening with a girl he fancied just to go sulk in a corner and do nothing. Jumping worlds would have to wait for another day.

By the time he left, fifteen minutes later, the place was crawling with afterwork guests, some of whom were there soely for the libations and others who came for the food. The bar had been opened, and a guy Harry only knew as "Buzz", on account of his hairstyle, was rapidly firing off drinks to the growing number of patrons. Harry dashed off a note to Gaston, who hadn't come in yet, and called to one of the arriving line cooks, a fellow by the name of Ward, to let Gaston know that he was going out for the night.

"Hey, Minnie," Harry said, passing her as he crossed the threshold of the Red Cherry, exiting.

"Hey yourself, big fella," she said conspiratorially. "Whenever you're free..."

Harry didn't get to hear the last of her sentence, as he was already rushing down the street. He suspected he knew what she was going to say; especially since it hadn't been the first, or the second or even the third time she had said it. to Harry's relief, Jack had deemed him harmless enough, and Harry was determined to maintain that perception, and part of that meant avoiding Minnie at all costs - not that she was not nice. Minnie was quite more than nice, as far as Harry was concerned, but he doubted he could levitate Jack wandlessly, and the hulk had proven to be exceptionally fast. It was like trying to take on Hagrid, and harry remembered clearly how well that had worked for Umbridge and her goons the previous June. Just days before the Department of Mysteries fiasco.

Harry turned right off the main street and went two blocks, taking another right a third of a block until he came to a run-down three-story walk-up on a deserted street lined with large trees. The cement paths were cracked horribly, some of the pieces having risen up from the ground markedly to create a dangerously uneven surface. There were all manner of cement chips and stones loitering about that made a distinctive crunching sound as Harry trounced over them. He had gotten used to the multitude of changing colours that made up the streets, and noticed swiftly that here, at the fringes of the outworld, the colours had faded from screaming neon to pale creams and blue-greys. I wonder if I shuffle enough pebbles about, will people in the real world notice? he mused.

Harry entered the apartment complex, which he had noted with some dismay, looked even worse for wear on the inside. The buzzer system crackled ominously, frayed wires sticking out in all directions as though Grawp had put a fist through the console protecting its electrical workings. Were you expecting the Ritz? he asked himself, shrugged at the small display of carnage and proceeded inside, noticing without surprise that there wasn't a shred of protection for the building. Some psycho could just waltz in and stand outside her door and-, Harry shrugged the thought away. She had lived here long enough, and it wasn't his place to go telling her what was what. There were reasons for it. She probably wasn't rich, or maybe security like that was a joke around here. Like locked doors were in the wizarding community. If muggles only knew how easy it was for wizards and witches to unlock a deadbolt, they would not feel so safe at night. And any experienced wizard would just apparate inside, leaving all the outer security measures undisturbed.

Kittie lived on the third floor at the far end of the hall. He briefly wondered if she had selected the furthest room from the building entrance on purpose, or if it were just random chance. He knocked.

After a moment, she opened the door and smiled brightly at him. "Hi."

"Hi," Harry said.

"Come on in," Kittie opened the door all the way and made room for Harry to enter.

At first glance, her apartment seemed incredibly sparse, as though she had not been there very long, but, after surveying the walls and the floor with his seeker's eyes, Harry recognized tell-tale signs of having been lived in. There were the drag marks of furniture having been moved once in awhile to stave off interior design boredom, and there was the usual dirt that collected in the corners, no matter how hard you scrubbed, and there were fingerprints around the light switches. Kittie's apartment had one major room, which was half-kitchen and half-living room, which was divided by a series of cupboards affixed to the ceiling. There was a large South-facing window that let in sunlight slanting into the far wall, illuminating the pin-sized hole where a picture had once been hung-up. Harry wondered if it were a picture that Kittie had had, or if it had belonged to one of the previous tenants.

"I know it's not much," Kittie was saying, "but it's home. Been that way for years."

"It's beautiful," harry responded instantly. "It must be wonderful to have your own place."

Kittie shrugged. "It can get lonely at times, but, overall, yeah, it's nice."

"I still live with family."

"Oh?" Kittie asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, my aunt and uncle." After a moment's thought, Harry added. "And my cousin, Dudley."

"Is he your age?"

Harry nodded, and took a seat on a modest futon, which Kittie motioned to with one hand. It was a rickety old thing that was made of criss-crossing wooden boards and a mattress. It reminded Harry of a makeshift raft he had seen stranded people make on television shows to escape island prisons and what not.

"Would you like a drink?" Kittie asked.

"Um, sure," Harry replied. He wasn't thirsty, but it seemed like the sociable response to such a question, so he went with it, thinking that it all seemed rather formal in light of the intense conversations he had been used to having with Kittie. Not that it bothered him that much, since, as he had thought two weeks ago when he had met the blonde woman in the Little Whinging playpark, pleasant conversations were something that he had yet to tire of.

"How does a gin and tonic sound?" Kittie asked, entering the kitchen and rummaging about for the right items.

"That sounds nice," Harry said, wincing at his description. He had never even had a gin and tonic before, and hoped immensely that he didn't gag at the taste of it. Harry turned to look at her, still enjoying the sight of her form, and in an uncharacteristically voyeuristic mood, enjoying the ability to watch her while she could not herself see her watcher. The cupboards occluded her head and shoulders from view, and the counter occluded everything waist-down, leaving her midsection exposed. Harry idly thought about how much he would like to stroke her back and her sides and stomach, possibly nestling his head up against her as he had done earlier that day. She had felt so warm and wonderful, it had intoxicated him into spilling his life story - at least the sad bits. He supposed now, watching her, that it must have all sounded really terrible; it certainly sounded that way to his own ears when he had narrated it. At the moment though, it didn't feel so horrible - his life. He had many good memories, and he was confident that his parents went to a good place and that they were happy together with Sirius. He was confident that they loved each other and that they loved him and that, at the end of his life's journey, he would join them in peace, whether he killed Voldemort or whether Voldemort killed him. You can't take that from me, tom, Harry thought fiercely. No matter what you do, I will always be in the arms of my loved ones. No matter how many people you kill, no matter if you kill me.

It occurred to Harry that he hadn't brought Kittie anything for her apartment or for her. She probably understood, as he didn't really get paid at the Red Cherry, except in room and board, and the date had been a bit sudden. Still though, he felt unsure of himself all of a sudden. Kittie had clearly wanted this to be a formal date, like the way he saw people go on dates in the movies, and that necessitated him bringing him flowers and chocolate for her. Nice ones. He idly watched her drop whole olives into each glass, along with three ice cubes. I wonder why the olives, he mused. Am I supposed to eat it or is it just decoration? It seemed like a bit of a silly decoration for a beverage, and he didn't think Stu had any olives in his gin and tonic, which Harry now remembered his employer had had on his first night at the Red Cherry.

Kittie came and sat down next to Harry on the futon, putting his glass down on the plain wood coffee table that she was using. "There you go," she said.

"Thanks." Harry obligingly took the glass in one hand and took a tentative sip, hoping that alcohol wasn't as appalling as he had heard it was from some of his dormmates. Kittie watched, clearly amused by Harry's alcoholic virginity.

"Not used to this stuff, are you?" she asked, phrasing it in what was, to Harry's mind a mockingly polite way of describing his newness to the experience.

"Am I that transparent?" he asked sheepishly.

"Like a window," she confided. "But it's okay, I won't tell."

"I am forever in your debt, Ms.-" Harry's face took on an expression of thoughtfulness. "Hmm," he said. "I don't think I know your last name."

"Nope, don't think you do," she sighed, curling up against his body, causing him to instinctively put his arm around her. She felt exquisite in that position, making Harry's sense of touch alert wherever she was pressed against him.

"I take it you're not going to tell me."

"I might," she said, feigning boredom. "But it'll cost you."

"Cost me?" Harry said, baffled as to what kind of cost she could possibly be thinking of.

"Yes, I will get to ask you a question in return, and you have to answer."

"Oh." Harry wasn't sure he liked that idea very much. On the other hand, it made him very curious as to what her last name was, though it didn't seem fair to give her a carte blanche on account of it.

"you already know my last name," Harry said, searching for an argument that would get him the information he wanted without having to commit to anything.

"Should have thought of that before you went spouting your mouth off," she said, shrugging and snuggling closer to him.

Damn, he thought. She's using her feminine wiles to dull my rational senses.

"Oh am I?" she huffed, looking up at him with a twinkle in her eyes.

"Indeed you are," he said. Then, hitting on a new tactic, decided he would make up a last name for her, and use it to tease her mercilessly until she willingly gave up the information. If Hermione had been privy to his thoughts, she would have explained that the tactic was an example of negative punishment, a form of operant conditioning developed by a behavioural psychologist named B.F. skinner, who had an enormous, melon-sized head. As it were, she was not, and Harry continued his life ignorant of this fact. "Indeed you are, Ms. Pryde."

"Ms. Pryde?" she asked baffled.

"Since you're not bothered to tell me your last name, i figure, I have license to make one up."

"And you chose Pryde?" she asked curiously, seemingly intrigued by this.

"Well, I'd thought she-devil was more appropriate in light of your character, but it just didn't have the ring to it that I was looking for," Harry deadpanned.

"Hmph," she said, huffing again. "you're terrible."

Harry gazed down at her and smiled. "I can live with that." Feeling more relaxed at the playfulness that they were enjoying, he tipped his glass back and took a long sip. The liquid was cool in his throat and burned in his stomach, creating a mixture of sensations that were both pleasant and uncomfortable, and mildly titillating. "So do we have reservations?" Harry asked, turning to the subject of dinner.

"Seven thirty," Kittie replied.

"Is it far?"

Kittie looked up at him with an expression that indicated she was scrutinizing him.

"What?" Harry asked after a second.

"Nothing, I guess. I was just wondering how much Stu told you about this place."

"He told me enough, I suppose."

"This place isn't that big."

"yeah, so?" Harry asked.

Kittie shrugged. "There's not much here to do, when you come right down to it. There's a training room for jocks, some boutiques, a flower shop, a hair dresser, a small grocery store, a few seedier places. Some pubs, a couple of cafes-"

"Kittie, what's your point?" Harry asked, sensing something was coming and growing impatient to find out what the punch line was.

"We're going to the Red Cherry for dinner, Harry."

"Oh," Harry said. "Is that all?"

"Yeah. I just thought you knew. That's why I wanted you to come here. So I could get you out of that place for awhile. I know Marv's gotten comfortable with the idea that it's basically the only decent place to eat in this town. I wasn't sure how you felt about having to have dinner at the place where you work."

Harry shrugged. "I can't say I'm thrilled about it, but it's not a big deal, really. I suppose I've been curious about investigating some of the other parts of the area, but I've been too afraid to go unescorted."

"Why is that?" she asked.

"Mosaics," Harry responded solemnly.

"Oh," she said, understanding. "But it looked like you were perfectly capable of defending yourself."

"It's not that. I don't want to get in anymore fights, that's all. I'd rather not have to kill anybody else around here."

"I see."

They passed the rest of their time in Kittie's apartment in a comfortable silence, and then left for the Red Cherry, walking a route that Harry was coming to learn and one which Kittie had memorized long ago.

The restaurant, being a typical Wednesday evening, was sparsely populated. Kittie and Harry entered and found Marv and his date, Liz, waiting by the bar, Marv sipping on a Tom Collins and Liz having some sort of clear liquid. Probably water, harry thought, as they walked up to them.

"Hi," Kittie said.

marv smiled and they gave each other a short hug. "Hi yourself."

"You must be Liz," Kittie said, turning to the woman drinking the water. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Liz replied, shaking Kittie's hand petitely.

"Hi, Harry," Marv said, turning to him to face him squarely. Harry was again, eerily reminded of the way Tom looked at him down in the chamber, his gaze like that of a serpent's, like he were ready to pounce, and simply gauging the right time to do so.

"Hi, Marv," Harry said, schooling his features into a blandly pleasant smile. "Nice to see you again, as always."

"Let's go take a seat," Kittie suggested, and the four moved to a booth at the far end, away from the entrance to the four backrooms that the establishment sported.

"So, Harry, how are you finding work here?" Marv asked, his tone and his expression one of complete sincerity.

"It's nice enough," Harry replied.

"Will you be staying long?"

"Don't really know."

"Oh, are you the new guy?" Liz broke in. "I heard about the demon thing. They say you killed them without even moving an inch."

Harry inwardly winced. "Um, yeah. Well, I probably moved a few inches this way or that."

"Really?" Liz asked, genuinely interested. "We're all dying to know. Us at the shop, I mean. You've been the talk of it all."

She's a tactless twit, isn't she? Harry thought to Kittie, who, receiving his message, promptly burst out laughing, spluttering into the cup of water she was nursing.

Marv and Liz looked at her quizzically, and, trying to recover as quickly as possible, apologized profusely, saying, "It's all a bit exaggerated, actually. I saw the whole thing. The demons were so busy being eaten alive by a bunch of snakes, they didn't have time to even get to Harry. It was the silliest thing, really. Harry never made a move. I mean, he hit one of them, but that was about all. Then he just left."

Harry saw that Liz was looking at Kittie confusedly and Marv simply had an eyebrow raised in question. "Snakes?" they asked.

"Yes, snakes."

Liz turned to Harry, who understood that Kittie was saving him from having to relive the whole thing, merely nodded. "yep. Didn't do anything, actually. It was all a bunch of poisonous cobras."

"But how did a bunch of snakes get into the cafe?" Liz asked.

Harry shrugged. "Well, you know, Liz. That's the million dollar question, isn't it? I mean, whoever put those snakes there must have really disliked the demons. I would shudder to think of crossing that person. They must have considerable resources. No, I would rather not like to meet that person, and will, in future, try to keep out of his way." harry's gaze flickered to Marv, who was scrutinizing Harry intensely.

Kittie, seeing this biplay, interjected, "So how are things going at the shop, Liz? Marv said you work at that little magic shop on the corner of sixth and seventh."

"Oh yes, I do. It's going well, Kittie. It seems more and more people are coming around to the idea that magic really exists. It's about time people start opening their eyes to what's been in front of them all this time."

"Magic, you say?" Harry asked.

"Indeed," Liz agreed.

"What kind of magic?"

"Oh, lots. We have a resident fortune teller - I've been told I myself have a bit of the gift, you see. I can spot a fake from a mile away, though my predictions tend to be a bit more vague than some of the others. We also do tarot and crystal readings, though I've always found tea leaves to work the best for me. We also have various talismans and other charms to help ward yourself from danger. Take you for example. You're new here, you obviously didn't have a clue what you were doing walking into a demon's nest, and you only survived by the barest margin. It would do you some good to come by and pick up something that would help your fortunes. If you had been just a bit luckier, then maybe you would have kept on walking and gone into the Plant Stop, a little vegetarian place a block off the main road."

"I see," harry said. "Yes, maybe I'll come by. It's always worth a look."

"yes, yes, it never hurts to look," Liz agreed. "You must keep your mind open, of course. So many people come in and just make fun of it all, but I tell you, they're simply jealous, or scared. Yes, yes, scared of the truth, that is. So many people, even here have difficulty believing."

"Even here?" Harry asked.

"Well, yes, Harry. Even here. Surely you understand that this place is not ordinary. We get all kinds of magics going on. With the different types of people, the demons and that ogre that hangs about here, people are naturally going to be more open minded. Still not enough, of course. Tell me, where did you come from?"

"Liz, you know we don't ask questions like that around here," Marv said quickly.

"Nonsense, Marv. Just because you dislike the questions doesn't mean that other people have the same things to hide. Harry here seems perfectly normal. Aren't you, Harry? I must admit that we all thought you were something special from the account of what happened, but now, looking at you, it seems plain as day that you're less interesting than even myself."

"Liz!" Marv exclaimed.

Harry simply smiled and nodded. "It's Okay, Marv. I have no problem being called boring. In fact, I'm kind of fond of the idea, actually. I think being interesting is a bit overrated, to tell you the truth."

"Interesting indeed, harry," Liz went on. "So, tell us then. Where are you from? How did you get here?"

"It's kind of funny, actually. I was just walking through downtown, thinking about things, when this giant car came crashing down the sidewalk. I scrambled into an alley and, when I looked around, I saw this young woman just lying about. I went to see if she were okay, and she had a gash on her cheek, and she was unconscious. So I went inside the nearest building to find help, only it happened that it was full of vampires." Everybody at the table gasped.

"How did you survive?" Liz whispered.

Harry decided it was best for his ego to skip the part about having the blood cocktail, and simply said, "When I found out where I was, I simply ran as fast as I could, and made my way to an exit. When I came out, I was here." Even as Harry said these last words, however, something struck him as being incredibly odd. Did everything really change when he went through the building? That didn't seem right. That would have meant that the girl was in both worlds. Harry furrowed his brows in concentration. He must have entered the world beforehand. By going through the alley in the first place. He decided to file that thought away and consider it later.

"So how long have you been here?" Liz asked.

"Just a few days, but I won't be staying long."

"Why is that?"

"I have to get back so my friends don't miss me," Harry said.

"That could be a bit of a problem, couldn't it?" Liz asked.

"What do you mean?" Harry returned.

"Well, you're starting to make friends here, aren't you? I mean, won't they miss you too?"

Harry glanced instinctively at Kittie, but she was not looking at him. You're going to leave her, a voice in his head thought. Is this outing still so harmless? Harry decided to switch gears. "So, now that I've told you how I've gotten here, anyone care to volunteer their story?"

Oddly enough, no one responded.

"Nobody?" Harry asked, looking at his three dinner companions. "Liz?"

She turned away and stared fixedly at the salt shaker, causing Harry to glance at Kittie questioningly. Seems a bit odd, Kittie, he thought. She just asked me about my history. It seems only fair.

"Histories are actually a rather personal thing around here," Kittie said. "That's why Marv said Lizzie shouldn't ask. We don't usually talk about them, because..." Kittie trailed off and gave the salt shaker a glance, trying to collect her thoughts. She went on, "Because, it takes misfortune to bring people here. All our tales are sad ones."

"Oh," harry said. All their tales were sad ones. "But wait a second," He said slowly, thinking about his own entry. 'Mine wasn't sad. Mine was rather ordinary."

"No, what I mean is that there has to be something in your old life, something in the real world that drives you to want to leave it. That's all. For some of us, it is the loss of a loved one, for others, it is the loss of material wealth. For others still, it could be entirely different."

Harry considered this. What in his life had made him susceptible to crossing between boundaries? Was it the loss of Dumbledore? Sirius? The feeling that he had to be an adult, maybe? Or it could havejust been the slow march towards that inevitable confrontation between him and Voldemort.

The server came by and took their drink and dinner orders. They were all splitting a bottle of house wine. The women each had a cocktail, Kittie taking a Singapore Sling and Liz going for a Candy Apple. Both Harry and Marv kept with their water. For dinner, there was a pasta, a stir fry, something ethnic sounding and a steak, which Harry ordered. Conversation lapsed into the usual dull things that Harry found drove conversations between people who didn't know each other very well. They talked about how Mosaics was being shut down and renovated by a foreign investor, and that the demons were getting out of town. There was talk about the construction of a pub called the Dark Horse, which would be operating in direct competition with the Red Cherry and so on and so forth. harry nodded and smiled and made noises of interest from time to time, sometimes, catching Kittie's hand under the table and squeezing it gently. Things like that were the only decent part of the evening, as far as he was concerned. Liz turned out to be a complete babbler, her incessant chattering growing worse as she pounded back one drink after the next. The thrum of business had grown, but was not nearly as strong as it usually was on one of the other nights. Harry spared a quick glance and saw a familiar fat, balding man in one corner, his large frame making him tower over his companions, who were simpering before him. Must be important, harry thought.

Harry also had time during the evening to study Marv a little more closely. To his discomfort, he felt that Marv was studying him too, and was getting something more out of the exchange than Harry was. He tried to keep his comments neutral, but every once in a while, a nasty, biting comment surged up from out of nowhere and it was all Harry could do to ameliorate his desire to expose the fraud. The fraud that he knew Marv was. Or at least, was fairly confident. Liz had started going on about snakes and their healing properties, and Harry briefly considered conjuring a poisonous cobra right onto the table. He thought it would serve two very key functions. He could effectively shut Liz up - if he were lucky, she would die of fright, and, simultaneously, he could test to see if Marv were a parselmouth. Alas, Harry fought back that desire. It would give him away too quickly. For all he knew, Marv was just some loser, like the next guy, or at the very least, he'd probably never heard of Harry Potter and would not feel threatened. If Harry went around showing off his talents as a parselmouth, which was a very distinctive characteristic, he would have to watch his back much more carefully from then on. It was bad enough that Marv may have suspected. I'm going to have to check to see what Kittie's told him.

At that moment, Harry felt a nudge coming from Kittie, and when he returned his attention to the table, he found the three were staring at him.

"Hmm?" he asked innocently

"Harry, Marv just asked you a question."

"Er," Harry began, not wanting to admit that he hadn't been paying attention. Don't tell them you weren't paying attention, his mind said. "Er, I wasn't paying attention," he admitted to Kittie. "I'm sorry, what was the question?"

Kittie rolled her eyes exasperatedly, and let his hand go from underneath the table. She made a show of turning her attention to Liz, leaving harry feeling a bit stupid.

Marv gave Harry a sympathetic glance and kindly reiterated his question. "Have you been out and about anywhere in our little hideaway?" Marv asked.

"Not after the demon thing," Harry said. "I've gone out a couple of times just to get some fresh air and stretch my legs, but nothing major. Heard there really isn't much to do around here."

"No, there isn't. You have to go to one of the other islands if you want to see some actual variety. I've heard there's quite a few nice ones if you don't mind taking risks."

"Risks?" Harry inquired.

Marv shrugged. "Some places aren't as friendly as others and hopping islands isn't an exact science. I haven't gone anywhere myself, being a bit too vulnerable and all that, but I've heard that some places are very stable and it's easy to get there, but some aren't. It all takes a bit of trial and error, actually."

"I don't really have much interest in going anywhere. Anywhere that's not home, that is."

"Right, right."

"You wouldn't happen to know anything about getting back to the mainland, would you?"

Marv shook his head. "Sorry, Harry. I came here and never spared a second glance back."

Harry pondered this statement, wondering what could have driven Marv from his old life. What had been so bad that he never wanted to return, that made him exile himself? Harry decided to ask, venturing with a preambling question. "Do you mind if I ask about your old life?"

Marv considered it for a moment and then made a hand gesture inviting Harry to continue. God what I wouldn't give for some veritassurum right about now, Harry thought.

"What made it so bad that you never spared a glance back?"

Marv sighed, and Harry was aware that both Liz and Kittie had returned their attention to the boys. "There were a lot of things, I suppose. Mostly it was just me. I wasn't very happy with who I was. Then, one day, there was an accident, and I hit my head, lost some memories I think. Or at least, there was a dead space in my life. When I awoke, years later, I must have been about twenty-two - I found my friends had moved on. I was just a bit lonely, I guess. Figured it was time for me to move on. My family had passed away somewhere in the middle so there really wasn't anything for me to do."

Harry wasn't sure what he was expecting, but that answer was not it. It sounded dull and uninteresting and, well, sad. It was so bland and spoke of such a banal existence, that harry was hard pressed to accuse it of even being fake. "I can't say it's the happiest story I've ever heard," Harry said. "Or even the most cohesive one. Marv, I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Marv asked.

Harry nodded, allowing Marv to scrutinize him thoroughly. He nodded and a silent understanding passed between them. You're a nobody, Marv, Harry thought, and I'm sorry I thought you were someone else.

The rest of the evening past in idle chit chat. Harry was amused to learn that Liz had, through some act of intuition, made a few clever guesses about the existence of wizards. She was a firm believer that some of the deformed people in the world were in fact victims of magic, though this line of thought tended to degenerate into a pitch for the trinkets in her shop. Harry had promised that he would stop by and take a look around to see if there were anything he could use to protect himself, all the while Kittie rolled her eyes surreptitiously so that only Harry noticed. Afterwards, the two couples parted ways.

"It was a wonderful evening," Harry reassured her as he walked her back to her apartment, stars twinkling different colours from the black sheen of the sky above them.

"Do you mean that?" Kittie asked, her grip on Harry's arm as they walked, arms linked, tightening just a fraction.

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked.

"In a word - Marv."

"Oh." They walked in silence for a moment, the faint crackle of cars and music and other things in the distance thickening in the ensuing silence between them. Now that the alcohol was wearing off, doubts about who Marv was had returned, and that made him worry. How could he lie to Kittie? The answer was that he couldn't. He didn't want to block her out of his mind all the time. He wanted to be comfortable with her, and that meant being honest. It was important in a relationship, he realized; especially after Cho. He and Cho had had unresolved issues between them and it had driven them apart. If only Harry had come clean and talked about Cedric with her could they have had a chance at a decent relationship.

"Harry?"

"Hmm? Yes, right, Marv. Could we talk about something else?"

"It seemed like you were warming up to him."

"That is when the snake aims to pounce," Harry countered. He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that this was the wrong thing to say; that the right thing to say would have come off sounding more apologetic, but he couldn't muster it. No, he knew magic existed in the world, and he knew that impossible things were possible. He also knew that danger followed him everywhere, and that meant it could follow him clean into a whole other universe. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, after all.

Kittie separated herself from him and said curtly. "I think it is better that we part ways here."

They stopped walking, and Harry turned to stare at her, all the while Kittie keeping her body aimed in the direction of her home. In all practicality, he had brought her far enough that she was safe making it home on her own, so that wasn't really an issue. But Harry didn't want to part ways just yet, because he was getting tired of the tension. In fact, he was more than just tired. He was getting pissed off, and this Marv issue was starting to remind him of Cedric in some distinctly uncomfortable ways.

"Dammit, Kittie," he said, throwing his hands up into the air in defeat. "I can't deal with this. I like you. I like you a lot. Why can't that be enough? Why do you have to push me like this? I can't get comfortable near him. It won't happen. I'm sorry."

She turned to him, and he saw tears running down her face. Oh no, he moaned. Not tears. "Just tell me you have a good reason for it. Tell me that. I know there's things about you I don't understand. You clearly aren't interested in letting me in. I can only believe that you think Marv is some kind of a threat to you-"

"To you too," Harry said quickly.

Kittie waved his words away with her hand. "I can't believe that. There's nothing you could say that would make me believe it, and if you ever try to turn me again Marv, he'll be the least of your worries. Believe me." There was an unmistakably hard edge in her voice that Harry recognized. It was the same edge that he heard when Dumbledore felt his students' well-being had been threatened. The air seemed to drop in temperature with her words, and Harry wisely chose to remain silent for the moment and let her continue. "I do trust you a little, however," she continued. "I have had moments of insight into your mind, as you know, and so you don't seem dangerous or insane."

"Gee, thanks," he muttered, not being able to resist.

Kittie went on as though she didn't hear him, "So, I'll just assume that you think you have good reason. Maybe you do, since you've all these secrets."

Harry looked into her eyes, and absently brushed an errant tear away from her left cheek. His expression was one of deep pain. Tell her, you idiot! his mind screamed. It did so at such high volume, that it nearly burst through his mental shields. Yet there was something keeping that reasoning at bay. Something about not wanting to get too close or too involved - the small little voice inside his head that reminded him unfailingly that he was destined to leave her and continue his war. There was another nagging little thought that had recently surfaced as well; one more disturbing than the others, because it suggested that he himself couldn't be trusted. Maybe you're looking for Dartk Lords where there aren't any Maybe you're trying to avoid the reality of the situation. Maybe you want to stay here where it's safe and comfortable and where you're free from the pressures that the wizarding world has placed on you. This is your oasis and Marv is the answer to your guilty conscience.

Harry shook these thoughts from his head and responded by watching Kittie walk away. "Dammit, Kittie!" he shouted to her retreating form. She turned and looked meaningfully into his eyes, the distance of the ten paces between them hanging like the omnipresent barrier that was plaguing their relationship. Harry reflexively ran his fingers through his messy black hair, blithely unaware of how cute Kittie regarded that particular mannerism of his. "I don't know what to say anymore. I'm tired. I think about you all the time, and I hate how tired and anxious I feel. When I'm with you, it feels so wonderful and when you're not there... it's like there's a little less colour in the world." He paused, searching for the right words and suddenly growing frustrated. He kicked a loose pebble onto the lawn, watching it disappear in the rush of dark grass blades. "I can't keep fighting with you like this. If you can't accept the way I am or feel, then I don't think there's anything left for us. I don't want it to be that way. God, how I don't. But I can't change who I am."

"Harry, I am not asking you to change who you are. I'm asking you to let me in. Can you really stand there and think that it's okay for you to not tell me and still expect me to get close to you. I'm not interested in being a casual fuck for some passerby. If you're going to be with me, you need to open up and let me decide. Now or later."

"Kittie, I would never think of you as that. A casual-" Harry paused, struggling to voice the obscenity and failing, "well, you know. Like that. You mean a lot to me. It's only been three days, but it feels like so long. I don't want to go back to wondering each second if you're going to walk through the door or not. I find myself always looking."

"You need to open up. You can't expect me to make myself vulnerable to you and not make yourself vulnerable to me. I won't have it."

"What does not talking about Marv have to do with vulnerability!" Harry exclaimed. "I just don't want to talk about the bloody git!"

Kittie through up her hands in exasperation. "This has nothing to do with Marv, Harry! God, are you that dense! This has to do with you warding off the parts of you that make you who you are. I don't know who you are!"

"I don't know who you are!" he shot back.

"You can ask me!"

Harry scrunched up his face in consternation. He wasn't quite sure where the conversation had gotten to, but he was pretty sure he had lost whatever argument they were having. At least along this point of contention. "Why do you trust him then" Harry asked suddenly.

"He's never given me a reason not to," she said. "He's always been open with me. When I first got here, I was alone. He was my first friend; we talked. We talked about all kinds of things. He was the first one who I felt I could count on, and who wasn't trying to use me or take advantage of me. He's my friend. I don't understand why that's so difficult for you to believe. You couldn't seriously think that he's the same person that murdered your family. Harry, he would have been only a toddler when it happened." She shook her head, and then said, "Why do you mistrust him so?"

Harry felt his throat constricting with each word Kittie spoke. He knew that he had taken this argument down a wrong turn somewhere, or, at least, that's what he told himself. But another part of his mind was quietly asking why he wasn't confessing the truth. Well, there were many answers to that question, all of them valid and many of them either rational or irrational. Harry merely kept silent. And so, Kittie left, leaving him to return to the Red Cherry sullent and confused.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to the Harry Potter universe.

Chapter Five

Tom

The next morning promised to be another warm, sunny day. The sky flickered diffferent shades of blue, ranging from royal to peacock, while the clouds puffed silently along on whatever invisible tracks carried them. Harry had, against his better judgment, deployed his occlumantic shields against his feelings for Kittie, letting his emotions drain into the mental equivalent of a moat around his mind's ramparts, stirring them into a fierce torrent that was indistinct from any of the other emotions that his memories were bound to conjure up. In a daze, he tidied up the mess left behind from last night's patrons.

While relaxing and polishing a set of wine glasses, quite possibly the ones he and Kittie had used last night, he took a moment to gaze out the large floor to ceiling windows that made up the front wall of the establishment. His gaze fell on the building across the street that he had almost entered that first day he had shown up in this strange place. There had been something odd about it. Something which he couldn't quite place. It was as though that one building did not quite belong in this world, and he got the distinct feeling that it might have been a relic of the main world that this one failed to disguise. Unlike just about every other thing in this place, which shimmered violently bright colours, that one building remained fixed to a set of dark browns, greys and blacks. Occasionally, he thought he saw dark red or purple stain the side walls, but he could never be sure. That, however, hadn't troubled him so much about the building. There was something else that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Harry, with a flick of his hand, levitated the glasses to the overhead rack and carefully slotted them into their holsters. He found that this sort of delicate work, when done wandless, was much more taxing than throwing jinxes and curses wandlessly. Wands tended to focus magic and give the wizard much more control, he had learned, and so using raw energy tended to be less predictable. However, Harry was planning to fix that. It wouldn't do to be useless without his wand. He was always getting in dangerous situations, and he needed a few aces up his sleeve.

Idly polishing another glass, Harry continued to stare out the windows. Absently, he flicked a finger in the direction of a nearby table, effectively cleaning it with the Scourgifying Charm. He then attempted summoning a snake , which, to his surprise, oozed out of his hand like something out of a monster movie. It swiveled its head to gaze up at Harry, its body still in the process of extricating itself from his skin. Where does magic and the body meet? he mused.

"Hello," said the snake.

"Hi," harry said back. He put the snake on the counter top and continued cleaning dishes.

"why am I here?" it asked.

Because I was bored and wanted something to talk to, Harry thought. He didn't say this aloud, however, because he wasn't sure how much snakes knew. Was this even a real snake? It seemed to be, and he suddenly wondered why he had never given this question much thought. "That is a difficult question to answer," harry hissed. "Let me ask you first. Where did you come from?"

The snake tilted its head as if in thought. Finally, after several seconds, it returned its gaze to Harry and said. "I came from oblivion. You summoned me to serve you, and so I will."

'That's interesting," harry said. "Is it your choice to serve me?"

"You summoned me, so I will serve."

"But what if I just let you go and wander about? Where will you go? Do you need food?"

"I do not need or want any of those things. I do not deal in questions. I will simply return to oblivion after a time."

""I would rather you stay."

"And so I will stay. I will stay, and you will command me."

Harry shook his head. "I have no commands for you at the moment. But I would like to learn more about things."

"You are commanding me to teach you... things."

Harry shrugged. If the snake wanted to see it that way, that was fine by Harry. "Well, yeah, I guess."

"And what things would you like to learn?"

"Teach me about magic."

"There are many things about magic I can teach you."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Like what?"

"What would you like to know?"

"Do you know any interesting spells?"

The snake cocked its head again, contemplating the question. "What is a spell?" it asked.

"Well," Harry began, not quite sure how to begin. He began wondering about what spells were, and discovered that he couldn't put together much of a description. It reminded him of when Snape had asked what ghosts are, in sixth year DADA. "Spells are what wizards cast when they do magic. If I want to cause a glass to rise into the air with magic, I have to say these words and flick my wand like this." Harry demonstrated. "Or I cast a spell to bring you here from oblivion."

"I understand. A spell is a manifestation of magic. Hmm, interesting. Do you always need those sticks to perform magic?" the snake asked.

"Well, no. But it's more difficult. I conjured you without using a stick, but it's the first time I've done it."

"Magic is a powerful force. It is an energy that swirls around us and through us all the time. With it, you can do anything. But it is difficult to control. To bend it to your will takes great strength and discipline."

""Can you bend it to your will?" Harry asked.

"I can. I use it to see through all the falsehoods in the world. My gaze is piercing. I destroy weaker beings with magic. I break their minds, make them fear me and through that I control and I destroy."

"Oh."

"I also heal. My venom can kill, but it can also protect. It is a matter of what I will it to do."

"Your venom can heal?" Harry asked. "Like a phoenix?"

"Like a phoenix, indeed. But not as powerful."

"How do you know about phoenixes?" Harry asked. "Are there phoenixes in oblivion?"

"Oblivion is a place where all knowledge and magic resides. It is a terrible place. Vast and incomprehensible. When I return to it, what I have done here will be absorbed into that dark chasm and when you call me again, I will return, though it will not be me. It will be another snake, and it will have my memories along with the collected memories of that vast place.""Wait a second," Harry said. "Are you telling me that you're a walking, talking super-encyclopedia?"

The snake nodded. "You can see me that way."

"So do you know any cool spells?" Harry asked again. "Can you teach me about magic so that I will be stronger and more formidable against my enemies?"

"I can."

"Great. Let's start."

The snake fixed it's yellow eyes on Harry for a moment and then, without any warning, Harry felt a horrible pain like knives cutting clean through his skull from all different directions. He cried out and fell to his knees, moaning. "Stop, please, stop Whatever you're-"

The pain cut away, leaving only ghostly trails of that brief horror. It had been like a cross between the Cruciatus and Snape's Legilimantic attacks. "What, what - was that?" Harry managed, rubbing his temples and getting to his feet. Unconsciously, he took a step back and braced himself for flight should something similar occur. Not that he was at all confident he could escape such a horrible wrath.

Before the snake could answer, however, it whipped its head to one side and gazed fixedly out the window. Harry folllowed its line of sight, aware dimly of what the snake was going to focus its attention on before he got there with his own eyes. The building.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"I see through falsehoods," said the snake.

"Right."

"And what falsehoods are you seeing through?" Harry ventured.

"It protects itself," hissed the snake. "It protects itself from the weaker ones. Soon it will feed. It will eat the week, it will ravage them for pleasure and it will break bounds unlike any that have been broken before. It cometh like a tide and all that is living tissue and organ will be swept away through its red wrath."

His eyes locked on the vision of that dark tower, Harry tried to make sense of the snake's words. Falsehoods, the weak, the red wrath. None of it sounded very appealing. And so, it was in that moment that Harry realized what was so terribly wrong with that building; what it was that made it different from all the others. The street people who passed it by constantly were avoiding it silently and unconsciously. There was a wider gap between them and the building as though there were a barrier that ran around the perimeter repelling unwanted attention. The passerbys didn't seem to notice either, which led Harry to one chilling conclusion. "It can't be," He whispered. "No, no no."

But it seemed strangely obvious now, as though he should have understood before. There was a muggle repulsion ward on the building. It was keeping people's eyes off it and was therefore creating the same illusion of abandonment that obscured the Leaky Cauldron from view. And if there was a repulsion charm in effect, that meant there were wizards in there. And if there could be wizards in there, then there could be wizards anywhere. And he was a very recognizable wizard. Which means I could have enemies here I don't know about. Harry absently fingered his wand.

"Go," Harry said. "Return to oblivion."

The snake nodded and disappeared into that dark abyss from which it had come. Harry threw a few more clenaing charms around just for good measure and then strode out of the Red Cherry, his thoughts bent upon one destination and one destination alone.

The building seemed even less inviting when he got right up to it than when he was looking at it from afar. He had expected that the cracked windows and peeled paint were part of the glamour that hid the true visage of the building from the passerbys, much like the wards on the Leaky Cauldron, but instead, these signs of decay seemed to intensify the closer he got. Unmistakably, however, Harry was acutely aware of the point at which he cross the threshold over the enchantments. They were particularly strong, like the ones that had been on the stadium at the World Cup in the summer before his fourth year. When Harry looked back out over the streets, he felt a tinge of sorrow for all the street people who drifted by, completely oblivious to this feat of magic right in front of them; a feat which gently nudged them out of its path for anyone who happened to be too close to it. It's like they're being guided by forces they can't understand. Harry wondered if perhaps it was time to feed the International Wizarding Secrecy Statute through a paper shredder.

With that thought, Harry went inside. All told, the building was rather ordinary. It had electrical equipment, like lights, and the front office had a desk with papers and a computer on it. In addition, there were other mundane things like a wastebasket and a kitchenette. He went to the wastebasket first, excited to see that there were a number of papers in it. Flipping through, Harry recognized a few documents to be invoices - the company had billed for a slew of office supplies from a distributor he hadn't heard of - not that that was very significant, since Harry doubted he could name a single distributor or retailer of office supplies in all of Britain. Remember, you're not in Britain though. What would a magically enchanted facility be doing looking like a muggle building and using and ordering muggle supplies? Maybe the building was in fact quite ordinary and the muggles who ran it simply had a wizard protect themselves from unwanted guests. That made Harry wonder if certain muggles could be insulated from muggle repulsion charms and other such things. He supposed there had to be countercharms to let parents of Muggle-borns into Diagon Alley or other wizarding places. Possibly even wizarding homes. Harry smiled at the thought of The Graingers having a cup of tea with the Weasleys.

As Harry flipped through the various documents, he became more and more irritated in his search for what the company actually sold. It appeared they were involved in international trade of various kinds - he could tell from the lists of invoices and orders and even from a series of Minutes in a cabinet that there were about fifty different products that were organized across four broad classifications. However, everything was numbered, making it difficult for him to identify what the substance of the transactions actually were. He even had the names of the directors, but none of them were familiar. He had hoped that, given the minority of pureblood family names in wizarding Britain that there would be one he recognized - not that he wanted to see the Malfoy name or some other such nonsense in the file, but at least it would have given him a reference point from which to analyze the material. Harry considered turning on the computer, but realized quickly that there was little point. Even if it weren't password protected, he was hopeless with the things, not ever having had time to try one out over the summer.

Harry decided to move on and see what else there was in the building. Possibly, it was one of those office buildings where there were a large number of completely unconnected companies and so there would be no point figuring out what each one did. Harry doubted that, however, because the repulsion charm encompassed the entire building, which would make it difficult to have a large number of muggles using it. Unless it were entirely wizard staffed, he mused. A whole army of wizards dealing with muggles for profit. He supposed the idea was not unthinkable. In fact, it downright made sense, given that wizards could do all kinds of things in the muggle world to gain an advantage over muggle competitors. The only thing that stopped them was their disdain for all things muggle. Harry couldn't quite picture Lucius Malfoy in a business suit. But then again, he really only knew a persona of Malfoy. He doubted that pureblood bigotry would extend to profit-making. In fact, Harry could even fancy a rationale about how wizards had the right to control muggle industries, and use that power over muggles. Maybe that's where multinationals come from, Harry thought. They don't have allegiances to any particular government, because they exist outside muggle government structures. It suddenly made a lot of sense, and harry felt a chill run down his spine. Is that what they were doing?

Harry suddenly stopped and began looking around. He had been walking without thinking and realized he was in a narrow hallway that was both dimly lit and painted in red and brown streaks across the walls. To make matters worse, the cloying smell of copper was in the air. That's blood, he thought, narrowing his eyes. Dammit. Harry cast about for a way out. You shouldn't be here alone. It's dangerous.

Suddenly, the last of the lights fizzled out of existence with one last puff of bright light, a suckling sound ensuing like that of dementors. Harry whipped out his wand and peered about in the gloom. Damn, he thought frantically, conjuring a blue bell flame to hold in his hands. The light it emitted wasn't much, but he couldn't afford to have his wand occupied with producing light if he needed it for defence.

There was a thick hissing sound from ahead of him, and he realized that, whatever it was, it had gotten between him and the way out. Harry chanced a spell, hoping that it might disarm the creature before it got too close. "Petrificus totalis," he whispered, directing the thin shaft of white light into the darkness. The hissing sound transformed into something that Harry could only describe as scaly. It was like a clucking of several muffled chickens. Harry began taking steps backward, edging along the wall, dimly aware that fresh blood was soaking into his shirt. What the hell is it? he wondered. Maybe it's a vampire, like before. No, it would have pounced, and certainly wouldn't have caused all this blood to spray on the walls. That would be like throwing away a perfectly good steak.

Harry let out a little start as he bumped against the far wall. Aware that he had found the door, he fumbled with his flame, trying to free his hand long enough to open the door. After a moment of little success, he threw the flame several feet ahead of him, where it landed on the ground, continuing to emit its eerie blue light. With the flame now further from him, Harry could make out the obsidian eyes of the creature that was stalking him. Harry gulped, aware that whatever it was, it was really big and really hideous. He fumbled the door open and fell backwards through it, having only enough presence of mind to aim his wand and say, "Caliportis." The door swung shut, but it did not quite make it. A claw wound its way around the door, struggling to gain purchase enough to push through the doorway. The door, on the other hand, was struggling to close as Harry commanded it. The claw, to Harry's dismay was a mix of dark red and black patches that were intertwined in snake like patterns. Instead of having fur, it seemed to have some sort of chunky flesh that made Harry think of enormous swollen pimples, or possibly, if he were imaginative enough, a human body that had been turned inside out from depressurization.

Shaking himself free of these thoughts, Harry jumped to his feet and made a quick assessment of his surroundings. Nondescript stairwell. He could go down or he could go up. He decided that it was probably safer not to get blocked off in an underground room. Windows could at least give him a fighting chance to escape. With that, Harry dashed upstairs. When he reached the second floor, he heard the distinct crash of the door below him, clearly having been ripped off its hinges. A long, mournful sound issued from down below and then the distinctive thudding sounds of something making its way up the stairs. Harry yanked open the door, dashed through it, locked it and then beat it as fast as he could down the main hall, which, thankfully, was lit. If I can make it to the end of the hall, he thought, I can probably find a large window overlooking the main street. A quick banishing charm and I can maybe conjure some ropes to slide down or just jump and use a cushioning charm. Harry made it to the door at the end of the hall and, without thinking, gave it a swift kick to blow it open. This, however, did not have the intended effect. Not even rattling, the door remained perfectly still, causing Harry to double back and wince from the impact. He then aimed his wand and said, "Allohamora." Nothing. Harry scowled. Good grief, what's wrong with it? Harry tried again to no effect. The scent of something acrid was starting to fill his nostrils. it was thickening around him like a blanket of fog. "I don't have time for this," he muttered. Aiming his wand yet again, he said, "Reducto."

Again, nothing.

Harry pursed his lips in contemplation, some part of him in the back of his mind wishing that Hermione were there to tell him the answer. Everything felt so suddenly rushed. He was losing time, and the stench of whatever that creature was was thickening about him, suffocating him, making the feeling of the blood pounding in his veins more salient in his mind. "Reducto! Reducto! Reducto!" Harry watched the sharp beams of light flow from his wand and strike the large wooden door with absolutely no result.

There was a large thump against the door at the far end of the corridor that caused Harry to jump. when he turned back, he saw one red-black claw jutting through the center of the door, wood chips scattering to the floor from the multitude of cracks that had formed in it. Harry instinctively ran his hand through his mussed hair and tried to keen from his environment something useful. The hall was lined with doors to either side, but, if his mental map was correct, they wouldn't be flush with the outer wall of the building, which meant that he would be effectively blocking himself into a dead end, assuming he could open any of them anyway. Never mind that, he thought, absently brushing sweat from his forehead as he concentrated on constructing a plan. Just open one and see where it takes you. Maybe you could fortify the door or blow a hole through the wall or something. With that thought, Harry ran to the nearest door with an office number on it - he didn't want to waste his time opening the door to a broom closet. He then grasped the door handle and checked to see if it were locked. It was. Taking a deep breath and trying to ignore the sound of the door being obliterated, Harry pointed his wand and said, "Allohamora." there was an audible click, which caused Harry to let outt a breath he didn't know he was holding. He threw the door open and ran into it, closing and locking it behind him without looking back. Again, the sound of that long mournful wailing filled the hall. And then he heard the distinct crack of something banging forcefully against the door. Whatever it was, it crossed the hall pretty damned fast, Harry thought distractedly. He glanced about the room and saw to his dismay that it was an ordinary office devoid of any windows. He aimed a reductor curse at the far wall, causing a few cracks and splinters, but nothing significant enough to focus his attention on. Instead, he spied what looked like a door peeking out from behind a large filing cabinet. Oh, please let it be that, he thought. Mustering up all his energy, he levitated the filing cabinet and glided it toward the front door, hoping it would act as a sufficient obstacle for whatever was in the hall. Just as the cabinet came to rest, there was another violent smashing sound and Harry saw dust and wood chips flying out to either side of the cabinet. The cabinet itself, though rocking back and forth, did not fall over. That'll only hold you for about three seconds, he thought and then resolved to concentrate on the doorway. "allohamora," he whispered, causing the door to open inward. Harry dashed through it and locked it yet again to buy him yet more precious seconds. In the other room, Harry could hear the cabinet come crashing down and as the creature discovered that Harry had maneuvered himself yet again out of harm's way, issued another wail.

The room was again an office, and was, like the last one, lit by red emergency lights. Where do they get their electricity in this world? Hary wondered briefly, before shaking off the thought and heading toward the exit. There was another loud crash behind him as the creature made its way through its next obstacle. Opening the door yet again, harry threw himself through the door and back out into the hallway. He then locked the door yet again, heard the wail of the strange creature and dismissed it as he dashed down the corridor towards what he hoped was freedom. He was barely aware of the rotten smell anymore or of the bloody mucus that clung to the ground and walls of the building, the remnants of the creature's passage. Harry stopped at the stairwell, staring in disbelief at the steps leading downward. There was a noxious fume rising from where the mucus was sitting and for the moment, Harry stood gobsmacked as he took in the sight of the crud that was everywhere - including his shoes. Soon, he discovered, that his shoes were starting to smoke and that there was a sensation working its way toward the skin on his feet. Acting on instinct, Harry vanished his shoes and socks and made a leap for the next few stairs upward, where his skin was free of the toxic substance. Glancing about he saw for the first time the creature that had been dogging him. It now stood in the hallway, its giant, protuberant white and black eyes fixing themselves on him. Harry's first thought was that it looked nothing like any creature he had ever seen before. In fact, it looked downright nnatural, its skin a conflagration of swollen wet tissues and bulging veins all condensed into an indistinct mask that was a hunched over biped. It's face took up most of its body with its eyes being the size of saucers. It let out that same foghorn wail, only this time, Harry could sense something triumphant in its voice that he seriosly didn't like. Harry aimed his wand and cast the only thing that came to mind - the conjunctivitis curse. The creature had already bolted for him and covered half the distance when it was struck square in its large face. The creature careened to a halt and began to thrash about in the hallway. Harry watched fascinated for several moments as it hurled bits of itself like shed skin all over the walls. As the creature seemed to compose itself, Harry refocused his attention and began railing off every spell he could think of. The incendiary spell the blasting hex, the banishing hex, the vanishing charm, the full body bind, the balding hex, the incarceration hex, and the stunning curse. finally, he tried the jelly-legs jinx. Alone, each spell seemed to do nothing. The incendary spell caused merely a small burn while many of the others seemed to only distract it, annoy it, or slow it down fractionally. Together though, the creature seemed dizzy or nauseous even. Harry watched it gurgle and stagger about before finally vomiting up something the smell of which was truly unspeakable. Harry decided enough wass enough and raced up the flight of steps toward the next floor. He wasn't sure he wanted to try the hallway, fully aware of how useless the last floor had been. But where should he go? Without giving it too much thought, Harry decided he would aim for going directly to the top and from there he could perhaps find a way out or, alternatively, he would begin assembling an arsenal of every weapon he could come up with and begin raining them down on the creature. If Hermione were here, he thought, she would have no trouble dispatching it. Harry only wished his skills were half as good as hers in transfiguration and charms. Harry's keen ears could tell that the creature had made it to the stairwell, but it was having a difficult time traversing them in its state. Harry wondered if perhaps, oddly enough, the jelly-legs jinx had been the most successful of all the curses. He thought briefly of using the darkest spell he knew and resolved to do so if he could not escape. With that thought, he decided he would stop a moment and conjure some snakes. They might be dead useful in a situation like this. Conjuring three of them, he hissed at them to head downstairs and kill the creature at all costs. They agreed and disappeared downward. Harry was dimly aware that he had made it to the fifth floor before he resumed his trek upwards towards the top floor, which turned out to be the seventh. By the time Harry reached it, he heard the creature crying out again, though this time the wail was more of a bitter shriek. My snakes seem to be doing their job, he thought, satisfied at the prospect of having defeated whatever it was.

Harry yanked open the door and dashed through, briefly taking note that the hallway was a bit wider and that the carpet was a soft plushy material with an intricate patttern of designs. The wood panelling and doors on this floor were a lot darker and polished. The smell of tobacco and scotch and leather were intermingling in the air, and, though Harry didn't understand why, putting his nerves on edge. He suddenly wondered if going to the top floor was such a good idea. After all, that creature was in this building. Maybe it was some kind of ground sentry for something even more sinister that was way up here in the executive offices. Maybe that was why he couldn't get into that second floor door. Maybe it was charmed by a wizard for protection purposes. Harry felt a chill run down his spine as he realized he needed to be much more careful and that whatever lay downstairs, which he no longer knew whether it was alive and still hunting him or not, maybe wasn't the only thing to worry about. Keeping a strong grip on his wand, Harry marshalled all his Gryffindor courage and his Slytherin cunning and stealthed down the hall way to the far door. He tried the handle, and found it to be locked. Okay, he thought. That's not unexpected. All the doors are locked. Harry then cast the unlocking charm and held his breath, praying that the damnable thing would open. It did. Suddenly elated at this prospect and the chance to make it home, Harry dashed through the door, aware only of the floor to ceiling windows on the far wall that shed in voluminous streams of light all over his face. He dashed straight to it and looked down at the figures trundling along below him.

"Almost there," he muttered, issuing a long sigh.

"Almost indeed. But not quite far enough," said another voice somewhere behind and to Harry's left.

Harry whirled about to face this other person - not that he needed to. Something about his voice registered in Harry's mind. Some memory from a time-darkened pit, from a trauma that he would rather soon forget, and which he had forgotten, called back from oblivion by nothing short of his most basic survival intuition. And so, even as Harry turned to face this person, he knew exactly who he would find.

Sitting in a large leather arm chair, swiveling about without a care in the world, a decorative smile on his face, a cigar in one hand, his other tapping an old muggle tune on his mahogany desk, sat none other than Tom Marvolo Riddle. A memory of a man. A young adult with cropped black hair, gleaming black orbs for eyes, handsome in a deceptively gentle sort of way waited patiently for Harry to understand that he was in a seriously precarious position. A fragment of a soul.

"Hi," Harry said, keeping his tone cautious and his face schooled into one of neutrality. Harry wasn't sure how good a legilimans Tom was at this point, but he decided to double and triple check his occlumancy shields just to be safe.

"Have a seat," Tom said, gesturing to one of the chairs that was opposite him on the other side of the desk. Harry's brain was racing about in circles, alarm bells ringing on all floors of consciousness, fires lighting up as memories rioted in his mind's streets. What the fuck? he wondered. Marv? Marv? You little fucking bastard. I'm going to dismember you limb from limb.

"Marv?" Harry asked, tainting his voice with a hint of confusion. He couldn't act entirely confused now - no, too much time had passed.

"Ah, you've met my brother, then," Tom said, continuing to smile. "I do recall seeing you at the Red Cherry. You were with that young lady that lives a block off the main street. Kittie, right?"

"What are you doing here?" he asked slowly.

"I run this place. I am the CEO, you could say."

"The whole building?" Harry asked.

Tom nodded.

"And does that include the monster downstairs?" Harry asked.

"Ah, so you've met one of my little projects. Please do have a seat."

Harry obliged.

"Would you like a drink?" Tom asked. Harry nodded, and Tom stood in one fluid, graceful motion and went to a bar in one corner of the room. He poured what Harry imagined was a very expensive scotch into two ornate goblets. Harry's eyes were drawn to them, and he had to stifle a gasp when he realized that they were not just any cups. They were the cups of Huffelpuff. When he forced his gaze to return to Tom, he realized that Tom had been watching him, albeit discreetly. Let's hope he didn't catch that recognition.

Harry took the proffered cup and feigned sipping it. He wasn't sure if this Tom had access to potions ingredients, but he wasn't all that happy about getting himself inebriated either. He had to maintain his wits, but he also wanted to seem nonchalant, the way Stu had been at their first evening together.

"Perhaps we should start with a round of introductions," Tom said. "My name is Tom."

Harry briefly considered faking his name, but realized quickly that there was no point. If this Tom had heard of Harry Pottter, then he would also invariably know about the scar, and he would have already seen it. Harry tried to check his memory to see if Tom had made that automatic glance to his forehead that he had become so used to recognizing. Even if he did, you wouldn't know, Harry thought. You were too busy gawking at the window and potential freedom. Constant vigilance.

"My name is Harry."

"Nice to meet you, Harry. So, tell me, what brings you to our neck of the woods."

"Would you believe I got lost?" he said.

"Ah yes, you're referring to the place in general. Many people do seem to get lost, don't they? It's a bit of a problem." Tom turned his attention to the window and seemed to drift off in thought as he pondered. Remember, it may all be an act, Harry told himself. Stay on your guard.

"I assume you're a wizard too," Harry said carefully. Maybe throwing a few bones at Tom as a sign of guarded trust would help you.

Tom licked his lips in hungry anticipation. "Yes, I am. Tell me, what gave it away?"

"I felt the muggle repulsion wards," Harry said. "Thought I would come by and see what it is all about."

"Hmm."

"May I ask what it is you're doing here?" Harry asked, feigning curiosity and interest.

"I've built a business here in the outworld."

"A muggle one at that," Harry mused, trying to hint at disdain in his voice. It wouldn't do to let this Tom think he were a muggle lover.

"Muggles have many uses, I've come to realize. I used to think that they were a waste of space, I must admit. In recent years, having lived with them, I've come to understand that they're disability gives rise to a kind of ingenuity. Tell me, Harry, have you ever been trapped in a bit of a tight spot? Have you ever been cornered like, say, a rat, and had nowhere to go but to fight your way out? Have you had a tough life, Harry?"

"You could say that," Harry began slowly.

"I find that adversity is the test of a wizard. It either breaks you or makes you stronger. If it makes you stronger, then you're the type for whom there is no amount of adversity that could be too much. Your limit is matched only by your own drive to succeed."

Tom really does like to sermonize, Harry mused, and then quickly chastised himself for letting his mind wander.

"You haven't touched your Scotch," Tom said. "Do you fear that I would poison you, Harry?"

"It's nothing personal," Harry said.

"I bet you've been poisoned before. Or maybe there have been attempts. You see, that is what I am talking about. Someone has tried to kill you and it has made you strong. You have, to my surprise, mostly bested my little pet downstairs. Oh, I assure you it's not dead. It has gone off to retreat, and when it returns, it will be stronger than before. I admit I didn't think to strengthen it against curses and charms, because those things aren't here in abundance. It was a bit careless of me, but now you have gone and done it. So it's no matter, really."

"I'm not following. Tell me, why would you have such a thing? Where did it come from?"

Tom waved his question away with a hand. "I hadn't had a specific plan with it. It was more of a biproduct of some of the experiments I was engaging in. For my job you see, is to provide muggle technologies. The work has led into a large research and development arm and that was one tangent. a most unexpected one. We're still trying to understand it. Certainly it's not our intention to just let it loose and muck about these streets. How do you like it at the Red Cherry? Have you met Jack?"

Harry nodded. "Tried to kill me when we first met, actually."

Tom smiled. "I can imagine. Has a bit of a temper, that one. I can't say I ever had personal dealings with him. He's a bit of an oaf at times, and somewhat clumsy, though he has his uses."

"I haven't seen you around," Harry said. "what of Marv? Do you come down and say hello from time to time?"

"Marv and I have an arrangement."

"What kind of an arrangement?"

"I wasn't so careless though, with my office, as I was with my little pet. I knew from the outset that the repulsion charms wouldn't protect me from wizards and that wizards may very well come one day. Dejected wizards, of course, since only those who are weak of mind can enter this place."

"Are you calling me weak of mind? And you, for that matter?"

"No, not me. You, probably. Though I admit I've noticed some things that intrigue me. Actually, they cause me great concern. There are things you're hiding, Harry, and I don't like it. I know you recognized the cups. They're obscure. How do you know them?"

"I don't-"

Tom waved the door closed so that it banged shut and locked with an audible click. Tom's gaze turned hard. "You'll tell me what I want to know."

Okay, Harry thought, the jig is up. With lightning reflexes, Harry pointed his wand and cast the stunning curse. Nothing happened.

Tom laughed. "Silently!" Tom said. "You can cast spells silently. And that is some very competent wand handling, Harry! Bravo!"

"How-?"

"Was it the stunning curse?" he asked. "Or the full body bind? I'm betting it's one of those two. They're always the first you learn and the ones a good defense student would use. They achieve full incapacitation with one stroke. The incarceration hex, the tickling hex, the balding hex, the trip jinx and jelly-legs and all those others can be recovered from. They have very specialized uses in wand dueling. Not that I'm going to go into the ins and outs of them now." Tom let out a long, theatrical sigh. "No, for now, I'll just say that I'm impressed."

"Why can't I use magic?" Harry asked.

"I set up a very complicated ward so that only I can use magic in select offices. Your wand handling is nice and all, but you're still incredibly slow-minded. You should have realized that when you ran up against my ward on the second floor. I knew then a wizard was in the building. I was surprised you showed the cleverness to escape Old Red, and so I held hope for you. Clearly, though, you couldn't muster up the intelligence to figure it out."

"And so you're going to kill me?" Harry asked incredulously. Even from what Harry knew of Tom, he was surprised Tom would use that reasoning.

"Nonsense. I won't kill you. Not yet anyway. First I'm going to leave you to be tortured for awhile and then if you tell me something interesting, I'll consider what to do with you."

"What makes you think I know anything?" Harry asked.

Tom smiled a grandfatherly sort of smile. "We'll find out, won't we? You seemed rather quick to put your wand away. I'm curious about that. You knew I was a wizard. It got me thinking though. It does look rather familiar."

With a wave of his hand, Harry's wand flew to Tom. Tom appraised it. "Not yew," he muttered. "But that is a phoenix feather, is it not?" He gave a swish of the wand, causing black and gold sparks to fly out. "Hmm, black sparks," he said. "gold, pure energy, elemental magics. But, black, black black black." He then turned to Harry. "Does black sparks come out when you use it?"

"No," Harry said. "Red and gold."

Tom nodded. "Of course, you would be rather noble, wouldn't you? worthless use of a wand. I'll have to hold onto it for now and conduct some tests."

It was a testament to the kind of life that Harry had lived that he wasn't finding this experience terribly surreal. And that he wasn't panicking either. Instead, he was trying to figure out just how to get out of his current predicament. But before Harry could come up with anything useful, he found himself whippping about as the door crashed open behind him. Standing in the doorway was none other than Jack, the part-giant from the Red Cherry. Harry, in other circumstances, would have been happy and even thankful to see Jack, but now it just made him terribly uneasy. It was obvious to Harry that Jack was here on Tom's orders and that made Harry wonder how many others his nemesis had under his thumb. An image of Kittie flashed across his mind but Harry dispelled it as quickly as it had come. He wasn't going to think about that, even though some part of his mind was already piecing together a very persuasive story for the facts as he saw them.

The way Tom had spoken of Kittie, the fact that she was a powerful legilimans, the fact that she so conveniently took an interest in him and had continued to pry into his life - no, Harry thought. Don't think about that now. She didn't try to invade your shields. But another part of him, that calculating Slytherin part was already questioning that. He knew that Voldemort could easily read his mind without him knowing. Had she been doing that to him all this time? Perhaps the push to get closer to him emotionally somehow created a hole in his defenses. Let me in, she had said. It had almost become a mantra between the two of them. Focus, Potter, his mind scolded. Worry about that later. So engrossed in his own thoughts was he, that Harry had even stopped paying attention to the conversation that Jack and Tom were now having.

"Excellent, Jack," Tom said. "You may take him away. Use one of the portals. There's no sense in delaying."

"Sure, boss," jack said, and then, to Harry's distress, Jack lifted Harry into the air and tossed him against the far wall, where he thudded painfully and collapsed to the ground.

Harry groaned and looked up, bleary eyed into Jack's ugly mug. "Jack," he managed, "don't, please."

"You're in for a world of hurt, kid," Jack said, smiling evilly. He then proceeded to punt Harry into the wall, which, to Harry's surprise and consternation, was not a wall at all. He sailed cleanly through it, dimly aware of the cracked rib he now had compliments of Jack's foot. Harry managed, despite himself, to cling to consciousness. He found himself in an octagonal room that reminded him of the department of mysteries. Just like that one, there were eight doors. Harry struggled to get to his feet, wincing with each second as pain flooded his body everytime he shifted the muscles in his abdomen. Harry staggered to one door, not caring where it took him and tried to open it. Unfortunately, due to the blood pounding in his head and the attention his ribs were demanding, he did not hear Jack come up behind him. He barely felt Jack put a strong hand on his shoulder and stop him. "Sorry, kid," he said in what sounded like a sympathetic voice. "We're not going through that one." Harry tried to protest, but all that came out was a long, suffering groan followed by a fit of hacking and coughing.

Jack steered Harry to another door - Harry wasn't sure which - and led him through. Harry stumbled and nearly toppled forward, and would have pitched himself head first into a pool of roiling red liquid - is that blood, his mind inquired - but then Jack laid a steady hand on him yet again and said, "Not yet. Nope, we've got to tie you up first. Wouldn't want you dying or going insane or something else, now would we?"

Jack," Harry managed. 'please. Why are you doing this to me?"

"It's nothing personal," Jack said, leaving Harry for a moment to go fetch some rope. "It's the bosses orders. He tells me you're not all what you seem. Don't worry though. I won't kill you. We just needs to be safe's all. Bit of pain never hurt anyone."

Harry would have laughed at the stupidity of Jack's last statement if he weren't in such dire and confusing straits. Maybe I can do magic here," Harry thought. He decided it was worth the effort. Without even bothering to look around to see if there were a door, he aimed his hand at Jack, who was coming back towards him with some rope and whispered, "Sectumsempra." There was a faint flash of light but it fizzled out before it even got to Jack. Whether it was from harry's own exhaustion, or another one of Tom's wards or simply because the spell demanded too much, Harry did not know, nor did he have time to indulge himself in Hermione-esque explanations. Jack seemed to understand what Harry had tried to do and backhanded him hard across the face so that he went careening into the wall, which was more like a cavern wall than something you would find in an office building. Where the hell had he been transported to? I'm going to die here, Harry thought, realizing to his chagrin that in a way, it would be at the hands of Voldemort. Not the Voldemort he had expected, but him nonetheless. You had been lax, Potter, he thought. You were arrogant, you were careless. Just like Snape said. You indulged in how good it felt to run away and this is where it got you. The prophecy was going to find you no matter what. You were silly to think that God had given you a reprieve from your destiny. It was merely a test and you failed. Snape is right this second laughing at you for your weakness.

Harry picked himself off the wall, which now had a sampling of his blood, courtesy of a long, jagged scar along his cheek. He quickly scanned the room in the few seconds he had before Jack tied him up and, taking in the room, realized that it was circular and cavern like with a pit of red liquid in the center. There was a door at the far wall. Harry bolted around the side of the cavern, thankful that he was much more nimble than Jack. He heard Jack's exasperated sigh from somewhere behind him as he reached the door. Without even bothering to check, knowing how precious his time was, he simply whispered the unlocking charm and heard the click. Jack, you're so going to be bloody surprised when I escape. Harry yanked the door open and heard Jack say, "What the-? Harry made to bolt down the hall, but not ever realizing the true strength and speed of a giant, was unprepared for the slick, wet feel of something snakelike wrap around his neck and pull. He was yanked back a step and away from the threshold of the door. There's no way that the brute made it all the way around the room, Harry thought desperately. When he looked down, he saw that he had been lassoed by the rope. He hesitated using the cutting hex in case he did something foolish and slit his own throat. Aim for a little further up the rope, he told himself, and calm down. Do not panic. But before Harry could sever the rope and make his break for freedom, Jack had come to a decision and cut away any chance for Harry to make a decision. Jack pulled on the rope, pitching Harry into the red liquid.

"Boss did warn me you might be a slippery little bugger," Jack was saying as Harry fell. "Well, I guess I can't promise not to kill you now, since you might die before I get a chance to properly pull you out."

And with that, Harry hit the water, aware as each pore on his skin, every fibre, every hair, as it came into contact with the substance, began to scream, sending alarms of pure agony shooting through him, making him want to scream and die and beg for mercy. Only he couldn't, since the liquid was now covering his face and eyelids, and he wondered briefly if it was simply eating through his body. He prayed, strangely enough, that it was and that, when it got to the end, which hopefully was near, the pain would stop and he would be delivered beyond the veil to his mother's waiting arms. God, he whispered silently, please let it stop. Despite the excruciating torture that the liquid wreaked upon his body, he did not open his eyes or his mouth, and he tried desperately not to breathe it in through his nostrils. But he was also aware that he was running out of breath, and that, if he passed out it would be a good thing.

Before he could have any such luck, however, he felt the hard tug of the rope against his throat, which seemed to bring some relief as the rope blocked out part of his skin from being exposed to that horrible red liquid. Before he knew what was happening, his face was out of the water and he was gasping for breath, the pungent smell of his own sweat and of blood and despair filling his mouth with each breath he took. He let a low, garbled moan escape him before he felt himself being submerged yet again. The pain had driven most of his awareness of anything else out of his mind, but he did have enough sense to realize that his second trip under was shorter than the first. Somewhere in the interim, he had been trussed up with ropes so that he could be lifted out of the liquid at will. Somewhere long ago, he had lost his glasses and now could only see Jack as some giant, fuzzy demon-like creature. Harry wanted to beg for mercy, the pain of the liquid still present, only milder as drops of the liquid still clung to his skin. As the pain left, however, and his higher cognitive functions reasserted themselves, Harry became painfully aware that Jack was not his friend. Jack was his torturer and begging for mercy wouldn't do any good.

Still, Harry tried. "Oh, God, Jack, please stop." Even to his own ears, harry found his words to be excessively piteous.

Harry could see Jack shaking his head. "Sorry, kid." With that, Harry was sent under yet again, though he did not know for how long this time. All he knew for sure was that he had soiled himself somewhere in the middle of the pain, and, while he might have cared about such things in some other life or time, he found that it didn't matter to him. The only thing that mattered was the sense of all his nerve endings being lit aflame and doing whatever he could do to stave it off.

After some interminable period of time of having been submerged and released in cycles, it seemed to stop. Harry hardly noticed though. he had lost count of the number of times he had been dipped in the abrasive substance after about the seventh one. Shortly thereafter, he felt his consciousness ebbing away, and had been surprised that he had lasted so long. As he hung limply from the ceiling, a mess of limbs protruding from the network of ropes that Jack had trussed him up in, Harry's ravaged mind flitted from one random thought to the next, many of which he had generated during his pain filled stupor at the hands of Jack. He had cried at one point, he was pretty sure. He thought he might have even begged for his mother to come save him, and for Sirius and maybe even Ron. He had fought for some reason not to cry out Hermione's name or Kittie's either. No, he wasn't going to beg for Kittie.

Harry found it difficult to sleep, which was hardly a surprise, though he had fallen in and out of a doze through the next few hours. His feet had gone numb, and he barely registered the fact that he no longer had a broken rib. The swelling had subsided. Some more hours passed, Harry couldn't tell how many, but after a time he became more alert. His mind seemed to be clearing from the agony that he had endured, and he was starting to understand that whatever it was, it was akin to the cruciatus. It clearly didn't seem to do any physical damage. Quite the opposite. Harry was surprised to discover that, after managing to wrangle himself into a position where he could move his arms relatively freely, he did not have the jagged cut on his face that he had been sporting earlier. The bruises around his ribs had disappeared too. He wanted to believe that maybe it was his own powers fueling the rejuvenation, but he doubted it. Instead, he realized with a sinking feeling that the cruciatus potion, which he had taken to calling the substance below, was probably laced with a restorative draft. Possibly even a revival potion like pepper up. He supposed it was quite an ingenious way to ensure that the victim did not pass out. Snape would have been most proud. It was certainly a concoction worthy of the most sadistic person Harry knew.

Harry discovered that he was actually rather cold. His clothes had been raked to shreds, probably by himself, he realized. He had vague memories of trying to chew through his own wrists to kill himself. It had been a pathetic suicide attempt at best, since mostly he ended up ingesting the potion, which had the horrible side effect of causing immensely more pain as it wound through his system. He didn't, therefore, even have the luxury of screaming or opening his mouth to scream while he was being subjected to it.

How did you manage to get into this mess? he inquired thoughtfully. "Mmm," he muttered. 'Shut up." Harry wasn't sure how healthy it was to talk to his own mind, especially aloud, but he supposed he didn't care. "Let's not dwell on that. We have bigger problems to worry about. Like getting out of here."

Harry cast about, trying to glean some useful tidbit from the walls. he supposed he had enough strength in him to cut the ropes, however, he didn't fancy falling into the liquid down below. He understood now that it wouldn't kill him. In fact, it would probably do the opposite, if it weren't for the pain. What would be lethal would be the fact that he wouldn't be able to muster up the focus enough to swim. You don't even know how to swim, you idiot, he thought to himself. Not that it mattered. It probably wasn't all that far to the edge. He could just make it onto his back. Besides, the liquid's rather thick, so you shouldn't have too much trouble.

Before Harry could act on these thoughts, however, Jack had re-entered the room. He was accompanied by Tom. Harry inwardly groaned. Here came the question period. Harry briefly debated telling Tom everything he knew, but decided very quickly that that would be stupid. Harry also dismissed the possibility of flat out lying to Tom. He'll want to rifle through your mind and you don't have the skill to project fake memories. Harry suddenly wished now more than ever that he had learned stupid occlumancy. You're a useless piece of shit, harry, a voice inside him said.

Tom must have finished surveying jack's handywork, because he now turned to make eye contact with harry. Once Harry managed to do the same, Tom spoke, "I'm here to ask whether you're up for doing a bit of chatting. Perhaps you'd like to talk."

"About what?"

"Whatever catches your fancy, Harry."

Harry had already been prepared for this. he had no qualms at the moment about sticking it to Tom's ego. No, he didn't at all. He didn't bow down to Voldemort in the graveyard at the end of his fourth year, and he certainly wasn't going to now. You can drive me insane like the Longbottoms, harry thought bitterly. That's the only satisfaction you'll get from me.

"Well?" Tom asked, quickly losing patience.

"Tom, your mother's a slut. Go fuck yourself."

It was a testament to how well Harry knew Tom that he managed to recognize the subtle changes to Tom's expression that gave away his pure, unadulterated rage at having his lineage insulted. Harry was certain Tom would ponder whether the insult had merit beyond the usual quips, and was certain that it would plague him. Tom just had to know everything. He will use the cruciatus potion and then, when your mind has been broken like the Longbottoms, he will simply rifle through your memories. Right now though, he's just playing with you. He wants to break you first, as a sign of his ability to control people. He sees breaking you as a kind of prize. Don't disappoint him by giving in. It's the only way you'll manage to garner enough time to get the hell out of here.

And once you're free, you'll show them that-

Harry's musings were cut off as he found himself falling into the red abyss. The pain was terrible. Oddly enough though, it wasn't so terrible that Harry's thoughts were immediately swept away by it. he managed to wonder for a few brief moments why it was that the pain didn't manifest itself in physical damage. He supposed that the same question could be asked about the cruciatus curse as well. And, with that thought, the pain surged forward anew and took hold of every fibre of his being, turning his thoughts into mush as he wondered dimly why he didn't break and just tell Tom everything he wanted to know. Do that, and then Tom will kill you, and through death, you will be blessed with peace. There will be no more body to torture. Do it, Harry. His thoughts swirled about him in a jumble as he kept from crying and soiling himself. Focus on that, he thought. Don't soil yourself. Control at least that while he's here. Do it when he's gone. Don't give him the satisfaction.

When Harry came up again, he saw that Tom was eyeing him smugly. The air was alight with a feeling of cold - a beautiful, numbing coldd that Harry welcomed. It was like putting an ice pack on a swollen bruise. It seemed to take the pain away and leave his thoughts to recuperate. Harry wondered when Tom was going to ask him a question, but it never came. Maybe he can just rifle through your mind now and save himself the trouble. harry supposed that that was probably true, but somehow, he doubted Tom would do that. To his own mind, Tom would think that such an act would be weakness on his part. Tom would do that only to people to whom he didn't feel he had something to prove. Or if Tom was afraid that his position wasn't completely secure. Niether of those things applied here. Tom saw Harry - rightly so - as a worthy adversary, and he was confident that Harry couldn't hurt him. And with that thought, harry restrained himself from casting a spell against Tom. Make Tom feel safe, he told himself. That is vital for the moment. Then, Harry felt himself plunging back into the red darkness. He won't ask you a question, his mind told him. He won't ask now. His ultimate victory will be to break you hwen you're most cognizant. He wants to know he has your complete submission, not just when you're still delerious from the pain. That will be when his feeling of control will be the sweetest.

With these thoughts, Harry was subjected yet again, for an indefinite period of time to the constant barrage of the cruciatus potion. He was dimly aware sometime later that, though he held up longer from soiling himself, which he inevitably did in front of Tom, he lost count after his seventh dip, just like last time. Well, no one said it would be easy, he thought. Still, harry was determined to get it. He supposed that it hadn't even been a day that had passed, despite the number of brief naps he had succumbed to while his mind licked its wounds. It was hard to sleep because, with each exposure to the pain, a peculiar thing started to happen. His body felt more and more refreshed while his mind needed more and more time to recuperate. That's when Harry started to understand that the pain was only in his mind.

You can block it.

Oh, sure. That's easy to say, he thought bitterly. Just block it. Mind over matter and all that rot.

Minutes passed. Minutes turned into hours. Jack came once in a while, subjected Harry to torture sessions and then left. harry tried to keep track of how many times Jack was coming. He supposed it was his best chance at creating a sense of time. Tom seemed to come every two or three times to watch. Harry could tell that Tom enjoyed the pain in only an abstract sense. He didn't enjoy watching people suffer per se. It was more of a need to exert power and pain was simply a necessary instrument to that end. Harry was also aware that he needed to play yet another game. Tom was no fool. Tom seemed to recognize the time lapse between the start of the pain and the release of Harry's bowels as related to Harry's will. You can't show that you're getting stronger. You have to give him signs that you're slowly breaking. And so, with that, harry began to file and catalogue in his mind's eye all the external shows of pain that would signal a slowly crumbling defense against the onslaught of torture that Tom was exerting. All the while, inside, Harry had to maintain constant vigilance in the way he ordered his thoughts and managed to focus his attention when the pain came. Sometimes, he would practice counting sheep, an old muggle trip to help people fall asleep. Other times, he would recite spells or facts. he took to creating lists. Harry made lists of things of all kinds, classifying things in all different ways. There was a list of things that he liked to do. There was a list of things he hated to do. There was a list of his weaknesses and of his strenghts, and of the spells he thought were helpful and those he thought were interesting.

There was a list of things he thought he needed to improve himself, and a list of his good qualities.

You're strong, a voice inside him said. The hours waxed and waned, his mind drifted through the dark. Whatever potions were down there, there was clearly a nutritive one and one to keep his body fit. He didn't feel discomfort at all from being tied up like a hog, and he didn't seem to get hungry. His stomach growled once in a while, and Harry salivated over the prospect of a steak. He had actually started constructing memories of foods he had loved to eat and using these finely detailed memories, could drool on command. This he found was an effective way to show Tom that he was cracking under the strain.

It was on Jack's twenty-third visit that Harry knew he had to make his move. You've run out of time, old chap, one of his voices said. Harry knew it, because Tom was here. And not only was Tom here, but Tom was here with something very particular. Harry had noticed by around Tom's eighth visit that Tom was getting frustrated. Sure, he saw the signs that Harry was breaking, but it wasn't getting him where he wanted it to. Harry supposed that Tom had used this form of torture before and was well aware of its effectiveness at dealing with obstinate prisoners. Harry supposed that Tom had a rule where his tenth visit was his last. This was his tenth visit, and he had brought Harry's wand. And there was only one reason that Tom would have brought his wand, and that was to use it on Harry. Harry had no illusions about what Tom would do with that wand. He would probably use the imperius curse first, and once that failed, he would use a full on legilimantic attack. And, whether that failed or not, he would kill Harry outright. He would kill Harry with the killing curse.

Harry had come to understand that Jack dunked him usually about a dozen times. Each time, Harry was under for about two minutes. In other words, as long as they could hold him under without worrying that he would drown. Not that Harry could remember it, but he supposed Jack had started him off with a shorter period of time and had worked him up to the full two minutes, deciding that that was Harry's maximum. Harry got dunked. The potion still hurt - it wasn't so easy to just shrug it off - but he could now move about, if somewhat jerkily, and focus enough to even cast a spell wandlessly while fully submerged. Jack lifted him out of the air and Harry made a show of groaning and thrashing about. Usually he saved this performance for the eight or ninth dunk. Now, however, he had to speed things up. He couldn't be sure Tom would wait until the dozenth dunk. Harry figured he could safely hold out for three. His reasoning was that, the longer he waited, the less they would be inclined to smell a trap when he finally didn't reemerge with the ropes. This was critical to his plan. After the second dunk, he began to cry profusely and beg not to be sent down again.

"Please, please, puh - puh - please," Harry began to shudder horribly. "Please," he whispered. Dunk.

This is it, he thought. He knew somehow that Tom wouldn't bother with a fourth one. Harry focused all his energy and mentally thought the word, Diffindo. He saw the rope cut, and happily, watched it tear apart and look horribly frayed. That was good. Tom would surely notice if the rope looked as though it had been cut cleanly.

harry settled down as best as he could, casting off the ropes. Then he opened his eyes, bracing himself for the initial sting that the potion had on that sensitive part of his body. Then he peered as best he could through the dark liquid for signs of light. He had learned early on that it was impossible to see into the potion, but if you took great care, you could discern what was happening above. Jack had pulled the rope and was now arguing with Tom, who was leaning over the edge to peer inside. Perfect, Harry thought. Calling to his body every ounce of magic he had within him, he thrust himself up through the water, breaking the surface just long enough to inhale a new lungful of air and latch onto Tom's legs. From there, he let gravity suck him back down under, taking Tom with him. Harry chanced a glance into Tom's eyes aware that his own mad, grinning face of horror and insanity was as equally pronounced as Tom's expression of terror, surprise, confusion and awe. Very quickly, his expression transformed into one of extreme pain. That's right, you bastard. I'm wiping that smug expression clean off your pretty little face.

Harry had no illusions about what he had to do now. I am going to kill Tom Riddle, he thought. Immediately, Harry drew the thrashing young man close and pressed his thumbs hard into Tom's throat. He watched as Tom struggled feebly to make a fist and repel Harry. However, being unused to the potion, Harry saw quite quickly that Tom was starting to welcome the death that Harry was offering, just as Harry welcomed death when he had first been thrown into the pool. Harry continued to suffocate Tom, even after the tell tale bubbles of his last remaining breath escaped from his body. Just then, Harry felt something hard swat his hand. something that was dizzyingly hard. Harry whipped about and saw that Jack had lumbered into the pool and was now creeping his way toward them. Damn, Harry mentally swore. He seems to be somewhat immune to the stupid potion. Harry dodged another blow from Jack's enormous fist, and was forced to let go of his opponent. Harry managed to get behind Jack and climb on top of him, which put his head clearly out of the water so he could get another breath. Harry then, having Jack's head in his hands, cast the stunning curse. There was a faint jet of red light and He felt Jack's hand, which was starting to crush his abdomen, let go. Harry then planted his feet on Jack's shoulders and propelled himself to the pool's edge, where he managed to climb out.

Harry wasted no time. He got straight to his feet and maneuvered himself to the doorway, which he found was locked. And then it hit him. His wand. When he turned back, he saw that Jack was slowly pulling himself out of the pool, and, with him was Tom. Harry instinctively raised one arm and called his wand to him. It deftly flew from Tom's pocket and into his waiting hand, where it promptly filled him with the warmth and comfort he had grown so used to. Unlike any other time he could remember, however, Harry also felt a renewed energy akin to what he imagined the elixir of life would have felt like if he had ever had the opportunity to drink any.

Harry was keenly aware that he was running out of time. His renewed vigor would only carry him so far against Jack, whose giant blood made him extremely resistant to magic. "Sectumsempra," he whispered. A jet of red light erupted from his wand and struck Jack in the chest. To Harry's surprise, a deep gash formed across Jack's chest, spilling blood freely. Jack looked down in complete astonishment, an expression similar to that of Sirius's last before he was driven through the veil. Keeping his gaze trained on Jack, Harry watched and waited to see whether it would be enough. He wasn't taking any chances. He had had enough agony over the last - well - he wasn't quite sure how long it was, but certainly it was long enough and excruciating enough that he wasn't prepared to let himself back into that situation without one hell of a fight. Jack stumbled about, emitting several groans and rubbing his head, which made Harry think that his wandless sdtunner must have given Jack a killer headache. Clearly though, Jack was not down for the count. Harry cast the incarceration hex, but the ropes merely fell off Jack and into the pool below. Harry considered trying to force Jack into the liquid, but quickly discounted that option. Jack's giant blood and skin clearly immunized him from its effects, so that all it would serve to do, if anything, would be to heal the very wounds that Harry had inflicted.

With nothing left at his disposal, Harry cast the dark curse yet again. He wasn't sure if another slash would appear or if it would simply reinforce the first one. He wasn't even sure if it would do anything at all. Does two levitation charms cause things to float even higher? he wondered. Quickly though, he found that it indeed had the intended effect. Another gash appeared on Jack's torso. Jack stumbled again and nearly fell into the water. He doesn't know it has revitalizing properties, Harry thought. If he had paid any attention at all to me at the outset, he would have noticed this. Harry realized, of course, that it didn't matter how many gashes he put in Jack. Eventually Jack would simply fall into the liquid and his wounds would heal. Your only hope is to pray he passes out from blood loss and drowns when he finally does fall in - except that won't work either. Harry groaned mentally, remembering that the potion also had the property of making you wide awake and fully alert. Harry now found himself dancing backwards to avoid Jack's ever slow movement towards him. Harry now tried casting other spells, ranging from the stunner to the impediment jinx. He noticed as he did this, continually backing up, that his spells seemed to glow with a brighter, richer intensity than he had ever remembered. Hitting Jack with the third stunner seemed to do it. Jack's body seized up, and his eyes had rolled into the back of his head. He then proceeded to collapse. Before he fell in, however, harry cast the levitation charm and held him up. He briefly wondered what to do with the hulk, watching as his continued to flow onto the stone floor. Could he just wait for the thing to finally die and then toss its carcass away? Maybe. He wasn't sure. Even now, he wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of killing Jack. harry was all too aware of the possibility that Jack simply didn't know any better. He probably didn't question his boss's actions or motives, because he had never been trained to. Just like you never questioned Dumbledore. Still, Harry couldn't have him running around torturing people and his concern for all the others out there who would be at risk outweighed his own desire to maintain the purity of his innocence.

Through all his mental ramblings, Harry only barely managed to notice that he was standing in the exact spot where Tom was supposed to be lying down. Eyes bulging, Harry whipped his head about, Jack's body quivering from Harry's anxiety. The door, which was now on the far wall, was ajar. GODDAMN! his mind shrieked, full of venemous rage and self-recrimination. Harry took only a moment to prop the body along one side of the wall. He cast a basic sticking charm and hoped that it would do for keeping Jack from accessing the potion.

Harry then made a mad dash for the exit, racing all the way down the hall and into the stairwell. From there, he raced upward to the seventh floor and down the hall, stopping dead in his tracks when he reached the large oak door. You can't go in there, he thought with dawning horror. You can't use magic. And whatever else Tom is, he's cunning. He knows it and he may very well be waiting for you. God only knows what other traps he's set. Harry took a step back and considered the situation. No, there was nothing here for it. Realizing he had to return at a later date, Harry cast a blasting hex at one of the doors, only barely registering that the force of his spell caused the door to explode into a whirlwind of wood shrapnel.

You may be protected, Harry thought, but your buddy Marv isn't. With that thought and a determined gleam in his eye, Harry set out for the Red Cherry. There's going to be some serious hell to pay for all of this, he thought, his mind focused on the one task of getting to Marv. Harry wasn't sure anymore that he wasn't capable of casting the Cruciatus. he had spent what he could only imagine as being days tortured mercilessly. The hot anger that had filled him during many of those brief interludes of peace had left him, and was replaced now by a compact, icy ball of white rage deep within him.

Outside, the world seemed unusually bright to Harry, which only marked the stark contrast between his past few days and his current state of mind and the obliviousness of the people around him. Harry strode purposefully to the Red Cherry, briefly shielding his eyes from the sunlight with one hand until he acclimatized to the beaming yellow light.

He had come, in his short time at the bar, to regard the musty smell of leather and wood as comforting, but now, it merely reinforced his resolve to destroy everything in his sight. From the fact that there were servers milling about and that Kittie was there, Harry guessed it was probably late afternoon. You only have an hour before guests start filing in. Harry couldn't have planned his timing better, for now all the people he had come to rely on, all the people who he now realized must have been Tom's lackies, were here - all with the exception of Jack, who, hopefully, was dead.

Kittie looked up from the bar and smiled, though, after a moment, her smile faded. She stood and made to go to Harry, but he refused to let her get close. "Harry?" she asked, suddenly feeling a weight buffeting her away from him.

He turned his gaze fully to her, and let all the bitterness flow forward. Kittie's eyes widened from the onslaught and she took a step back. Without a word, Harry waved his wand, causing all the glasses that hung from the racks above the bar to shatter. He wasn't entirely sure what spell he had used, except that he was now running on pure instinct. It was like his wand was now focusing a controlled form of accidental magic. harry felt like he could do anything just by willing it - so deep was his sense of loss and betrayal. His self-loathing and, strangely enough, his love. He had abandoned Ron and Hermione for this place. He had abandoned Ginny. He had lied to himself and told him that it was only for a few days, but in his heart of hearts he knew better. He had committed a gross betrayal of his own against the people that had supported him for the last six years. He was going after the horcruxes full on now, and nothing was going to get in his way.

Once the shattering of glass subsided, the last tinkling shards leaving a dead silence in its wake, Harry spoke, all eyes having been trained on him. "Somebody please go get Marv."

"harry, no!" Kittie exclaimed. "What are you planning to do?"

"What am I planning to do?" he asked, pretending to mull over the question. "It's rather simple. I'm going to ask him a few questions."

This statement seemed to raise Kittie's ire. "You have some nerve, Harry. How dare you barge in here and - and -"

"Shut up," Harry said simply. He turned to another server and said, "Sal, is Marv around?"

"Er, yeah," Sal said. "In the back."

"Go get him."

Just then, SStu stepped out from one of the back rooms, Minnie at his side. "Oy, Harry! Where've you been?"

Stu stopped and took in the sight of all his glasses smashed and then pursed his lips. "Someone mind telling me what's going on here?"

There was a silence that ensued, and Stu, not knowing Harry, assumed that it had more to do with the commanding nature of his voice than anything else. Harry, simply, was wondering how best to make an example of Stu.

"It's very simple, Stu," Harry said in a clear voice. "I'm taking over this establishment for a few minutes so I can clear up a few things. Then I'll be on my way. You'd best just go have a seat and keep quiet."

Stu raised an eyebrow at this statement, and Harry could feel an amusement radiating off of him. "Taking over? For a few minutes? I'd best keep quiet? This is a joke, right kid? Who're you to tell me what to do?"

Harry shrugged. "Suit yourself, Stu." Harry extended one hand out, palm face up. With only a second's worth of concentration, a black and silver python extended out of his hand, immediately gazing with its piercing red eyes at all the inhabitants, who now stood frozen in shock. It extended to twelve feet in length and then flopped to the ground, where it proceeded to curl around Harry's feet. harry kindly reassured it in a tell-tale hissing noise not to fear.

"Of course, master. You are one of us, after all."

Harry noticed with some amusement that many of the people who were in the bar had taken several steps back. Some of them, no doubt, remembered what happened the last time Harry and his motley crew of snakes appeared in an establishment. Lydia, oddly enough, spoke up. "You did kill all those demons!" she exclaimed. "That's amazing! Any chance you'd be willing to come work for me at the Lucky Charm?"

Harry turned to face her and eyed her speculatively. Then he returned his attention to Stu.

"Now see here," Stu began, clearly unnerved at the display of power. "Tricks like that - you can't come here and threaten us like this. You have no right. We took you in, for God's sake. Harry, kid, what the hell?"

"You know, Jack's gonna be back any minute," Minnie said. "It's a cute trick, the snake and all, but do you really think you can take him? He'll rip you limb from limb."

Harry smiled a cold, mirthless smile. "Jack should have thought long and hard before he decided to spend the last couple of days torturing me," Harry said. "Not that it matters now. I've dispatched him. You'll need a new bodyguard, sugar."

"Now hold on asec," Stu said, raising his hand in supplication. "Jack wouldn't do that. he's been here working since you disappeared."

With a flick of his wand, Harry silenced Stu. "Be thankful I don't outright kill you, Stu. If you ever want your voice back, you'll kindly have a seat and keep out of my way." Harry turned to face the general crowd. He said, "Sal, go retrieve Marv. use force if necessary. Chanel, go with him and make sure Marv comes here. He and I need to have a chat." Sal and Chanel looked from one another to Harry and back again and then nodded.

He turned to face the remainder of the people. "I suppose many of you are scared. You need not be. I'm only here to finish up some loose ends and then I'll be on my way."

"Are you going to kill him?" Kittie asked in a small voice.

Harry turned to her, his anger surging anew. "Were you in on it?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"What?"

"Don't lie to me, Kittie. Were you in on it? With Marv and Tom?"

"Harry I don't understand. Who's Tom?"

Just then, Marv entered, Chanel and Sal at either side. "Hello, Harry," Marv said. From a quick survey, Harry could tell that Marv understood everything that was going on.

Any doubt Harry might have had about Marv vanished when he sssaw the recognition in Marv's eyes as Marv gazed down at his wand.

"I thought as much," Marv said. "When you showed up here, there was something about you. And then when I noticed that some of our dishes were incredibly clean - they sometimes defied dirt. And you seemed to do it all so swiftly. I knew you had to be a wizard."

"Go on," Harry prodded.

"What would you like me to say?"

"From what trinket were you resurrected?"

Marv nodded. "Ah, so that's it. You understandd what I am."

"Marv, what are you talking about?" Kittie asked. "Marv, tell him he's crazy. He - he thinks you're some sort of monster. he thinks you murdered his family and are hunting him down. But you can't be - you just can't. You would have only been a child when it happened to him. He said you killed his last protector last month. But you couldn't have. You were right here."

At these words, Marv's expression turned suddenly very weary and lost and sad.

"Marv, tell him!" Kittie urged.

"It's not so simple, Kittie," Marv said, clearly resigned to his fate.

"What do you mean it's not so simple!" Kittie shouted, her anger and frustration getting the better of her. There was something pleading and desperate in her eyes, and Harry suddenly knew for certain that she was not working for Tom. Maybe none of them were. hell, maybe Jack wasn't either. Could it have been the imperius? Harry suddenly felt a cold chill run down his spine. The imperius. He felt suddenly incredibly sick. Did he just kill someone who was completely innocent? But how am I supposed to fight off the imperius? he thought. Jack would have just kept coming for me. It was self-defense. At least, it was partly self-defense.

Kittie seemed on the verge of tears. She feels betrayed, harry thought, his mind flashing like a light bulb with the insight. Marv was probably one of the few people she trusted, and now she finds out that he's been keeping something huge from her. Harry was also rather surprised from Marv's reaction. He had expected Marv to put up a fight or at least deny everything. It would have made sense. Harry couldn't fathom what cunning game Marv was playing at by effectively alienating his friends and not making a break for the tower. He would be free and clear if he made it to the portals. Harry also couldn't tell where Marv could possibly be keeping his wand. There was something else too. he had seen many expressions on Voldemort's face. He knew Voldemort and Tom were capable of feeling smug, happy, anger, hatred, frustration. These were all driving emotions, but Marv instead had the look of someone who had been beaten a long time ago and was merely waiting for the axe blade to befall his head.

"I'm sorry, Kittie," Marv said in as placating tone as he could muster.

"You're sorry?" Kittie asked, sounding confused. "Marv, please. I don't understand. Don't tell me you're sorry. You can't be sorry. There's nothing to be sorry for. Please, please, Marv."

Harry realized he needed to take control of the situation very quickly, before Kittie exploded into a fit of hysterics. She's on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and you can't let that happen. Harry wasn't entirely sure why he couldn't let that happen, other than it would interfere with his interrogation. More than that, he felt she needed to be calm to absorb everything. He didn't want her to walk away from this confused. She had been confused enough in her lifetime and he didn't want to compound her grief by effectively taking away her last source of solace.

"Kittie," Harry said in a commanding voice, calling on some of his magic to lace it for effect. "Kittie, you told me that people who come here have pasts that they don't like. We all do. You do, and I do. Well, Marv does also, and it appears it's linked to mine. I need to hear his story."

This seemd to mollify her a little bit, though harry could still feel the distress radiating from her. Once satisfied that she wasn't going to interrupt, harry turned to Marv. "All right start from the beginning. When did you regain consciousness?"

"1984."

"How?"

"What does it matter to you how?" Marv asked suddenly, his voice laced with bitterness. "You're here to kill me, aren't you? Why don't you just get it over with?"

"Do you really think it's that simple?" Harry asked. "I need to know which artifact you come from. I need to know who else knows and who my other allies are."

Marv sighed. "It was the locket."

"Slytherin's locket?" Harry asked, surprised, and a bit disappointed.

Marv seemed to pick up on this, because he asked, "Were you hoping for something else?"

"I expected that the locket had been destroyed," Harry admitted. "I was hoping you were the missing artifact. The one Albus and I couldn't figure out."

Marv nodded. "Albus Dumbledore."

"Yeah," Harry said. "You need not fear him anymore though. One of your minions murdered him."

"They're not my minions," Marv said sharply. "They never were. I never wanted any of this. I - I just wanted to live."

"How did you escape the locket?"

"A wizard coaxed me out of it. He wanted to steal my power, I think." Marv let out a short laugh. "he was so stupid."

""Who was he?" Harry asked, now intensely curious. Was he going to find out who the initials R.A.B. belonged to?

"I don't know," Marv said, shaking his head. "I didn't stick around long enough to find out."

"What happened to him?" Harry asked.

Marv again shook his head. "Again, I don't know. he had passed out when I awoke."

"You killed him."

"No, I didn't."

"You stole his life force."

There was a silence. Marv seemed to consider this. Then he said, "I don't know about that."

"You need to suck the life force from a living being in order to corporealize," Harry said.

"How do you know?"

"Do you know of the diary? It must have been one of the first, so I assume you have memories of it."

"I remember the diary, yes," Marv admitted, though somewhat reluctantly.

"Lucius gave it to my friend's little sister when she was eleven. You possessed her and made her unleash the basilisk on the students."

There was another silence. finally, Marv said. "You're a bastard."

Of all the things Harry had expected Marv to say, this was not one of them He was surprised, to say the least, but decided to take it in stride. "Why do you say that?"

"Do you think I wanted this?" he asked, repeating a version of one of his earlier statements. "Do you think I'm evil, Harry? All I wanted to do was live. I never possessed your friend. I never wanted to kill. I watched, all the time. I saw through his eyes, I saw him turn his wand onto one unsuspecting person after the next. My only comfort was that, one day, he would kill someone and he would cut me away from him so that I could live in peace."

"What?"

"Are you surprised that I don't want to run around murdering people, Harry?"

"Well, yeah. Especially since I ran across your double over in the other building. He was all too happy torturing me - not that he would get his hands dirty. No, he had Jack do it."

"What did he do?" Marv asked, now curious.

"It was a potion he dipped me in. It was like the cruciatus. On and off for days. he wanted to break me."

Marv considered this. "I'm sorry. If I could stop him, believe me, I would."

"Why on earth would you want to do such a thing?" Harry asked.

"Because he's evil."

"Then go stop him."

"I can't."

Harry quirked an eyebrow at this. "That's a bit silly, isn't it? If there's anybody who could, it would be you." Marv shook his head, but Harry continued. "I tried, but he has his office warded so I couldn't use magic. It was a blood ward keyed to him. You clearly could if you wanted-"

"I'm a muggle."

Harry stopped speaking instantly. His astonishment must have shown clearly on his face, because Marv laughed again. "Now you understand, don't you, Harry? I'm not like tom. That's why I didn't take his name. I don't hate muggles. I don't want to control them. I am one. I was the tiny part of him that hated himself. I was the reason he thought to make horcruxes in the first place. He wanted to get rid of me. He thought I made him weak. I was his conscience, you see. So, here I am, exiled, weak and vulnerable, but, you know what? I'm happy too. I have friends, I like my life. I don't need to bully people or control or kill them. I just need to have some companionship, but I know I can't, now can I? I don't grow old, do I? I'm not really real, so before you go and judge me, just think about that."

Harry was suddenly speechless. Either he was the best actor in the world, Harry thought, or Marv was somehow the good part of Voldemort. As loathed as he was to admit it, harry couldn't ignore the evidence that weighed in favour of Marv's assertions. He was a nice guy. He was Tom Riddle, and he was nice. It was enough to give Harry a headache the size of Walpurgis night.

"You do know that as long as you live, the Dark Lord is invincible, don't you?" Harry asked.

"How many has he created?" Marv said, asking his own question instead of answering Harry's.

"Horcruxes?" Harry asked, and, when Marv nodded his agreement, Harry continued. "There's seven, including himself. At least, that is what we've been going on."

"Yes, it was seven."

"How do you know?" Harry asked.

For the first time, Marv smirked. "I am him, remember? I was there when he asked-"

"Slughorn," they both said in unison.

Marv looked surprised. "How did you know I asked the old potions professor?"

Harry merely shrugged. "I've made it my business to find out everything about you. I had to, after all, since I needed to figure out where you've put all these damned pieces of you. It's not like I could just go up to old Voldy and say, hey, tell me about all those dark rituals you've been up to."

"Slughorn told you?"

"Harry nodded. "Took a bit of convincing," Harry admitted, but then, upon further reflection, realized that it hadn't been convincing so much as bribery. "It wasn't really me so much. Dumbledore spent the better part of last year scouring the earth for all your former acquaintances. Even that little house elf you framed."

Marv looked positively strained at Harry's last comment. "Yes, I remember her. I did not want that to happen."

"What, you care about house elves too?" Harry asked.

"Why wouldn't I?" Marv asked defensively.

Harry shrugged again. This Marv was getting to be rather surreal. "Perhaps we should finish this conversation somewhere else. It appears there's a lot we need to talk about, assuming you're willing."

"Funny, I thought this was an interrogation. You You mean to tell me I have a choice?"

Harry threw his hands up into the air. What was he supposed to do with this guy. Harry had expected when he had been charged with the task of destroying hoarcruxes that it would have meant breaking a glass vase, or throwing a book into a fire or some other such equally simple task. This, however, was completely different. Harry couldn't quite imagine himself taking a knife and plunging it into Marv's heart, letting his blood drip out all over Harry's hands and onto the floor. Harry would be compelled to watch; his conscience would let him do no less. He would watch as the look of pain in Marv's face slowly faded into that slack look of someone free. Can you really do that?

"You know I have to kill you, don't you? Harry asked.

There was a silence in the air that seemed to thicken and pool about each of the bar's occupants. After a time, with resignation clear in his eyes, Marv nodded. 'I understand."

"No," Kittie broke in. "There's got to be another way. It can't be."

Harry and Marv both turned to face her. She had been listening intently to the entire conversation, trying to glean as much as she could. Now though, she slumped back and buried her face in her hands. The feeling of wanting to go to her and comfort her that feeling that had been in him since he arrived - since he had met her, seemed to have disappeared. Whatever attachments Harry had had were now gone. Those dark, pain filled days of solitude under Tom's wrath snapped any emotional connection he could have had towards her. In fact, Harry now simply acutely felt the loss of his Ginny. A sense of betrayal washed over him as he thought about this. Look what you've done, his mind told him, though really he didn't think it was all that fair. He would have had to have come for Marv eventually. No, in some ways it was better that he had stumbled across this place.

It's the power the Dark Lord knows not, he thought. Your own feelings of isolation and despair put you in the ideal position to hunt him down. How else do you explain managing to get into the thick of Riddle's affairs by complete chance?

Marv seemed as though he wanted to move to comfort her, but didn't dare. He looked to Harry for permission. harry gave him a tight nod and let the two hold each other, Kittie's sobs coming in full force as she rested her face in the crook of Marv's shoulder. "It'll be all right," Harry heard Marv say in a whisper. "Don't you worry. I'm not going anywhere. Not yet, anyway."

"Don't leave me," Kittie said.

In another life, Harry would have thought that such a statement sounded whiny, but now, he understood the pang of that loss. The feeling like you're last protector had left you. Dumbledore had basically walked into his own death when he flew to the Astronomy Tower that night. harry, after having mulled it over, knew that in all likelihood, Dumbledore did not expect to survive. He may have even knew that he was dying from the poison. Maybe Snape was only meant to make it quick and painless. After all, there was no reason in not asking for Slughorn's help as opposed to Snape's. Harry shoved that thought aside for the moment. He didn't want to think about that, especially now when he had so many other things on his mind.

Marv looked up and stared at Harry intensely. So much so that Harry felt a bit uneasy. Tom really did have quite the stage presence when he wanted. "I'm going to have a moment alone with Kittie." Harry understood that, this time, Marv wasn't asking for permission.

"Go use one of the back rooms. I could do with a bite to eat anyway."

Marv took Kittie's hand and gently guided her to the back room. When they had left, Harry relaxed and looked about. All eyes were still on him. Stu was gesticulating wildly at his mouth in a silent plea to get his voice back. Harry flicked his wand and Stu let out an audible sigh.

"Well," harry said looking about. "Get all yourselves back to work." Still nobody moved.

"Er, what about the glasses?" the bartender said.

"What about them?" Harry asked.

"They're all broken. Can't really do much for our customers when they can't drink anything here." The bartender looked rather sheepish and ready to flee at the slightest inkling that Harry would dispense his wrath upon him. This must be the power Voldemort loves so much, lording over everybody else this kind of terror.

Harry again flicked his wand and silently, all the pieces of glass reformed themselves. Well, not quite all. A couple got their pieces rearranged and were now mostly unusable. But all the others were safe, and Harry levitated them and held them in the air for the bartender to collect. "You can take them," harry said. "I don't altogether trust my ability to float them into their correct spots." He supposed he could have done them one at a time, but it would hardly have looked like an impressive feat of magic. That thought made him relapse into a memory of Dumbledore's battle with Voldemort in the Ministry lobby, rendering him completely oblivious to the wide eyed stares of the restaurant patrons who were looking between him and the floating glasses with that same mixture of awe and terror that people like Olivander had for people like Tom Riddle. Great yet terrible.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to the Harry Potter universe.

Chapter Six

The Ravenclaw Edge

Harry had realized a long time ago that he didn't fear Voldemort. The prophecy had come as a shock, sure, but it didn't make him quiver with dread the way he supposed it would if anyone else had been handed such a thing. It seemed from the very beginning that he was fated to wage war in some fashion. Even his childhood, which he supposed most death eaters would laugh at, gave him some form of training. It gave him drive and a willingness to always fight. It made him fight internally against those things that he saw as injustices; it turned him into a person whose every fibre oriented themselves to the singular task of arresting unjust behaviour.

All that said, though, he was pretty confident that, in a duel, voldemort would pretty much pound him into the ground. He hadn't really understood what it was that he was supposed to do to stop the Dark Lord. He had never even considered the killing curse. He supposed that his subconscious had already discarded it as a fruitless endeavour. After all, it hadn't worked the first time, so why would anyone think it would work the second. No, the killing curse had always been out of the question. He had briefly entertained the thought of using the cruciatus until Voldemort went insane, like the Longbottoms. That seemed sufficient, though Harry wondered if it could really be that easy. No, voldemort had probably immunized himself somehow from the curse. Harry wondered if he himself had done something similar from the prolonged exposure to the cruciatus potion. Sure, it had still hurt, but not enough that he couldn't block it out and do other things. Had he effectively built a resistance to the cruciatus? It couldn't have been that simple. But then again, it could be tied up with his unique abilities. Possibly whatever Voldemort had passed off to him when he was a baby. Certainly, whatever else that ludicrous amount of agony might have done, Harry felt a clarity unlike any other he had ever felt before. His thought processes seemed more concise; his mind more ordered. His ability to focus had reached new heights it seemed. All in all, he had to say he was rather thankful. Not to mention the fact that, somewhere along the way, most likely towards the end of his torture sessions, his eyesight had improved. He had decided for simplicity's sake that it must have been right at the end when he had opened his eyes and felt the sharp tingling sensation. After all, he knew the potion had rejuvenating effects. In fact, he rather wished he had bottled some for future use. Sure it was painful, but it had some of the most profound healing effects he had ever run across. With his new found composure, Harry felt good. He doubted he would last more than the usual ten seconds in a duel with Voldemort - no, he had no illusions about that. But he was confident he could take Tom Riddle to task, and that made him smile. Yes, he was going to break these horcrux bastards if it was the last thing he ever did. No - he was certain the last thing he would ever do was cut the Dark Lord's head off. At least he hoped.

Harry leaned forward, placing both his hands flat on the table and staring fixedly into Marv's eyes, aware that the lamplight in the small, makeshift interrogation room turned his face into a mess of dark shadows. "Tell me everything you know." Kittie sat off to one corner looking tense and letting her eyes flicker nervously between Harry and Marv.

"I suppose I should start by saying that I wasn't quite truthful when I am a muggle." Marv let out a sigh. "I suppose I'm better classified as a squib. After all, I have some magical abilities. Enough to see through the wards on the building, at any rate. Not that I knew there were wards. That only became clear to me this afternoon."

"Did you know Tom was there?" Harry asked.

"I had my suspicions that he was about. Certainly I knew wizards were crawling around - or at least one. There are signs amongst those afflicted with the imperius curse. They're subtle, but I knew. And I knew that they couldn't be wandering in from afar - I'm pretty sure that the jump between islands would have cut the connection of the curse. so that meant there was someone running around here."

Harry nodded. "Makes sense." Harry leaned back and listened to Marv speak for some time. he described to Harry his first moments of consciousness - how everything had been dark at first - how he had existed in some ethereal plane, feeding slowly off the life energy of some seemingly vast, endless source. As time past, he felt more and more of his own memories and instincts return to him, and with that came sensations. At first they had been dull and distant, as though he were feeling touch through a great many sheets of fabric. As time past and he grew stronger, the sheets were stripped away until light and sound and smell and touch filtered through. Marv had awoken in a muggle hotel room in Bristol. The first thing that had struck him was how cold and wet he felt, and the chill that ran through him when he discovered the body of a middle-aged adult laying contentedly on the microfibre double-bed. Marv had checked his vitals - his pulse, his shallow breathing, his cold skin - he knew that this stranger was on the cusp of death. He had known it was his fault, but just like a newborn babe, his thoughts were awash with all the strange sensations that he had forsaken so long ago when he had been placed inside the locket. Knowing only two instincts - predator and prey, flee or fight - Marv took to doing the only thing he could think of. He stole all the strangers things, including the locket, which hung loosely around the man's pale and hairless skin. He had only thought of it as a trinket to sell at the time, but later, when his mind reasserted itself into the logical and ordered way that Harry associated with typical Slytherin cunning, he realized how very fortunate it was for him to have secured that particular item.

From there, Marv had lived on the streets. It had been his intention to secure work somewhere, but he discovered quickly that, with the state of his clothes and hygiene and his complete lack of knowledge regarding anything muggle, he was unsuited to do any kind of work. Nobody would so much as look at him, let alone hire him. He had discovered that one day when he had mustard up whatever small part of him was a Gryffindor and tried to enter a retail outlet to inquire about employment. He was not blind to the fact that the smell coming off him in waves was putrid, to put it mildly, but he had to know whether it was even an option. Eventually, he found ways to survive. He had taken to mugging a few people; his form was lean and he could maneuver quickly in a tight spot. he had eaten out of dumpsters, and suspected that the small magical reserves he had were enough to give him a slight edge in a number of areas. At the fringes of existence, those few drops of energy sometimes were enough to mean the difference between life and death. Marv had seen many die around him. Vagrants curling up on the streets in the middle of a January snowfall.

He had awoken in times of the Thatcher era, and so what resources had been deployed to welfare programs, cut so thin, he had never really run across any kind of shelter. No, people were not interested in helping or empowerment or anything like that. This was simple extermination. He had, on one occasion, heard people cheering on the wet chill that stole over Birmingham from the North, egging it on to strip the vermin from the streets; drive them into the sewers where they could disappear silently and unobtrusively. Marv had no illusions. They were not talking about rats. No, they were talking about his kind. He had reflected many times on his childhood in that orphanage; how he had enjoyed lording over the others the powers that he had discovered. Powers that he had discovered through his own isolation, and his search for that part of him that always felt different. That part of him that was magic, and which grew day by day, connecting him to another world. he had seen ruffians come along and kick some drunk philanderer to death, the smell of alcohol and blood assaulting him from his perch in the shadows. Marv had wept. it had been a rainy night, unusually warm for February. What year it was he did not know. Maybe 1992, or 1993. He stopped caring for time when it became apparent he would not age. He had found himself shedding tears for a stranger; oh how that other part of him, the part that had severed this weak version of Tom Marvolo Riddle would watch silently at his misfortune. Marv was the weak; and Lord Voldemort was the tyranny of evil men.

When his tale finished, Marv sat back, spent. "I have never told anyone that story before." Marv let out a bark of a laughter. "There was no one to tell. Well, an old lady who took me in to work at a bookshop once. I had managed to mug enough people in a short enough period of time without getting caught either by the police or other thieves, and had managed to fix myself up enough to approach her. She took me in; and it could have been sweet, but it was not meant to last." Marv drifted into a whorl of memories, lost to it for several minutes before he shook himself and returned his piercing black eyes to Harry. "Can I ask you something?"

Harry nodded. "It's only fair, I guess."

"Why?"

It was an open ended question, to say the least, but Harry knew what Marv meant. A why for so many things, Harry mused. It occurred to Harry that he had never told his story to a stranger before. People always knew before he did; a fact that annoyed him greatly during his fifth year. Now, of course, that maelstrom of emotions had ended with the death of Sirius and the knowledge of the prophecy. After he had had time to brood and consider it, he had come to realize that he had a place in the world. It may not have been a pretty place, to be sure, but he didn't think he wanted a pretty place anyway. People with those lives always looked sort of flat to him. Like Dudley, though anyone looking at his cousin would be hard pressed to come up with the word flat as a descriptor. No, people with pretty lives were not his sort. Nor were people whose lives were aimless and wandering. "Lord voldemort has made it this way," he said finally. "He's started a fight. He started it a long time ago, long before I was born or my parents went to Hogwarts. And he chose to involve my family in that fight, though I would hope that they had made the decision to involve themselves. It's clear he wants to finish it, and well, frankly, so do I. I want to destroy him, because he hurts the people I care about. Because he is trying to kill me. Because, while I'll never have a pretty life, people at least deserve the option, and they can't get that with Lord voldemort running amuck screwing around. And maybe, I want to do it because it feels good somehow. It feels like I'll get a little piece of me back when I take him to task."

Marv nodded, satisfied. A silence fell between them for a long time. Harry had many more questions. he had only scratched at the surface that was Marv, and he knew it. But he also knew that it could take weeks to absorb all the information he wanted. marv was something of an enigma. His life was fascinating to Harry, because it was so much like his own and yet so different. Harry had suffered by being shunted inward and then made to jump through hoops. His life had been a myriad of controlling influences buffeting him about like a kayak on the open seas. Marv, on the other side, was the opposite. He had suffered because there were no forces at all. He had been left in a vacuum; left to devise a strategy for his own life without any of the supports or entanglements or assurances or platitudes and threats and dominations and machinations of any single person. He was a babe of society; a child born in the air and left to freefall.

"How is it that Kittie never knew any of this?" Harry asked suddenly. "Do you know occlumancy?"

Marv quirked an eyebrow. "Ah, I see you want a bit of confirmation for my story."

"No, actually," Harry admitted truthfully. "That never even crossed my mind. I just recall her saying that she's never gotten anything other than banal thoughts from you. I would have assumed your mind would have turned to past events at some point during your time with her. Also, I would have thought you would have recognized her talent immediately and given away its name. How not, if you did not use occlumancy?"

"Funny. I pegged you as the all braun and no brains type, but clearly I was mistaken. That's quite the ravenclaw you've got in you."

"nah, not Ravenclaw. Slytherin more like it."

Marv took a deep breath and sighed. He began slowly, as if to carefully word his response, and then he stopped and pondered a bit longer. finally he said, "Are you an occlumans?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, but not a very good one."

"Do you understand that legilimancy is a fundamentally magical phenomenon?"

"Er," Harry began, trying to process the question, and discovering, to his annoyance, that he didn't really know. "Well, yes, I never thought about it, but it does require a wand."

"Does it?"

"Er, well, yes, I mean no. You can certainly do some magic wandlessly. God knows I wouldn't have escaped if I couldn't. And I know Lord Voldemort has used legilimancy on me in the past without a wand."

"Okay, now tell me. Is occlumancy a fundamentally magical phenomenon?"

Now Harry suddenly felt confused. He started slowly, "I guess you don't need a wand at all to perform occlumancy, so if it's magic, then it's purely a wandless form of magic." Harry hoped that that answer was satisfactory, though, immediately, as he looked into Marv's eyes, he knew it wasn't.

"Harry what is occlumancy?"

"The protection of one's mind?" Harry asked uncertainly. "Or, no wait, it's the building of mental walls."

"Mental walls," Marv mused. "Okay, let's go with the mental walls thing. What are these walls made of?"

Harry pursed his lips in thought. Finally, coming up with nothing articulable, he resorted to saying, "What does this have to do with anything?"

Marv rolled his eyes. "You must be a Gryffindor. What is the purpose of legilimancy?"

"To root through other people's thoughts and emotions."

"Right. You go into someone's mind and you peruse their thoughts. You see memories the way the host has interpreted them. You can observe just about anything that a person can conceptualize into a communicable framework. Let me ask you this. When you enter someone's mind through a direct legilimancy attack, do you see colours? Shapes?"

"Yes."

"Okay, and you see these things because the other person saw these things."

"Right."

"Okay," Marv said "Take an individual who has been blind since birth. If you used such a legilimancy attack on this person, what would you see?"

"Marv, I don't-"

"What would you see, Harry?"

"I don't know. Nothing?"

"Precisely. You would see nothing. Or if you did see things, they would be representations that would, in all likelihood, not have any particular relationship to the objects they're representing. What would you glean from such an invasion?"

"Not much, I imagine. Though you could probably still understand what people were saying."

Marv nodded. "Suppose you used legilimancy on a person who speaks French."

"You would glean thoughts in French," Harry surmised.

"Do you understand what I mean by communicable frameworks?" Marv asked.

"I think so. If we're not both on the same page, then legilimancy wouldn't help very much. For example, if I were colour blind, you couldn't extract information about colours from my mind."

"That is a good example. The trick would be to learn to drain colours from your memories before you commit them to memory. You would have to learn to visualize the memory in black and white and greys and then memorize that, effectively shutting out the original and discarding it."

"But that would mean that I would no longer have access to information about the colours," Harry said, thinking hard. "That would be a bit silly. All you're saying is that I need to forget useful information."

"All I am saying is that that is the first step to mastering occlumancy. Occlumancy is built upon many, many layers and is multi-faceted in its nature. As is legilimancy for that matter. There is surface legilimancy, direct legilimancy, peripheral and sensory legilimancy. They each have their own degrees and eccentricities. Take the colour example. Instead of stripping all the colour from an image, why not simply reverse all the colours, like in a colour wheel? Turn all the reds to greens and greens to reds, and leave yourself a footnote to change them back. Then, when somebody looks for images containing blood in your mind, all they'll end up getting are memories of your days spent cutting grass."

"Okay, that's all very interesting - well, actually it's not really. Why the hell are you giving me a lecture on this?" Harry asked.

"As you pointed out, the brand of occlumancy that I told you of has its limitations. It's really only the first step to mastering occlumancy and is more an exercise in controlling your own mind than anything. I only brought it up because you asked. As it turns out, a lot hinges on whether you're magical or not. There are certain occlumantic techniques that only wizards can do. Kittie has mentioned that you have erected walls that block her out completely. Sometimes these walls disappear when you're distracted. This is a type of occlumancy designed to defend against direct magical legilimantic attacks. I suspect you've been trained this way, and by someone rather incompetent. Unless of course that direct attacks were the only thing you wanted to protect against. The long and short of it is that I can't really defend against legilimancy. if Kittie wanted to, she could have shredded my mind. I like to think that she respects my privacy and tries to minimize her acquisition of my thoughts. Truth be told, she's the most powerful legilimans I've ever met. It's only by virtue of the fact that she shies away from this gift, seeing it as a curse, that she's not the most powerful person around here. I doubt you'd be able to do much against her if she directed all her will towards stopping you. Me, I would have even less defenses."

"Well thank God she's on our side then, right?"

Marv smiled. "Is she?"

Harry glanced over at Kittie, suddenly nervous. She simply returned his gaze with what seemed like expressionless eyes.

Harry shivered and returned his gaze to Marv. "Okay, so you're not an occlumans."

"I've learned to order my mind - a trait of my old self. I am quite adept at controlling my thoughts, despite my inability to generate higher order defenses. When Kittie told me she was a telepath, I committed that word to memory with a particular definition. That definition did not include the word legilimancy in it. I kept the word legilimancy around, but I left it completely divorced from all aspects of telepathy. It's not an easy thing - having that kind of control over your thoughts. Thoughts by nature tend to wander about, flitting here and there."

Harry nodded. "That makes sense. My instructor never really told me any of this. He simply instructed me to clear my mind and then tried to break me." The vitriol that Harry normally associated with Snape seemed to be gone now. he wasn't quite sure why, since that hatred ran as deep as his connection and love for magic. He decided to ponder on it later.

"He couldn't have been very good at occlumancy himself then," Marv commented. "Or legilimancy, for that matter."

Harry snorted. "Actually, he was the best. He fooled everyone, including Dumbledore. You see, he was a spy for the Dark Lord, and was pretending to work for Dumbledore. I had always doubted that what he was doing was actually building my defenses. I started to believe that he was doing quite the opposite, actually. I have a unique link to Voldemort." Harry tapped his scar. "When I was a baby, he tried to kill me with the killing curse. Only it rebounded and hit him instead, causing him to lose his body. As you know, his soul remained intact and on this earth, compliments of the horcruxes. With this link, I can glimpse into his mind from time to time. He can also send me false images."

Marv nodded thoughtfully. "I imagine he never thought of that as a possibility."

"No one did."

"Yes, I suppose no one would. I had always wondered if there might have been something to the notion that love is a more powerful force than hate. Certainly Voldemort doesn't think so. But only because love thus far has been impossible to understand. You can't really harness it for your own purposes. It works at strange times and for strange reasons. And often with strange costs. I am guessing that someone died to protect you. Possibly several someones?"

Harry nodded. "My parents."

"Their deaths must have been very close to you in proximity and time. Also, they were probably murdered using the killing curse and they were probably also very likely aware that they were going to before they did. I would wager that they actually lasted longer than normal, and that, the closer the time came when they were hit with the curse, the harder they fought to protect you."

"How do you know all this?"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle has a very well ordered mind. He was able to think of many things all at once," Marv said. "I was that part of him that chose to focus on why people in the ministry and some of the textbook writers focused so much on love. Flannel, for example, was clearly a brilliant mind, and yet he seemed to spend a good quarter of his life researching the powers of love, its effects, consequences, etc. Tom eventually discarded this type of information as sentimental, self-deluding rubbish. He sent it to the back of his mind and left it there in a dumpster. I took greater care to understand it, because I was that part of him that spurred him on to look it up in the first place. The most prevailing theory about love is that it is a kind of magical energy that tends to aggregate in the air. The killing curse works because it ejects your soul from your body and disperses it to whatever plane of existence it's supposed to go to, if any. Your magic then escapes into the air and settles there. It will have an imprint of the kind of energy that you had been focusing on. The more you focused on love, for example, a love mixed in with the kind of intensity that life or death situations demand, then you can imagine what a powerful love based energy would form in the air at that time. I imagine that your parents had all their thoughts bent on protecting you. All that energy was displaced around you, like a mist - the better their abilities at magical focus are - the more tightly coiled that mist would be around you. Of course, it would disperse after a time, unless it were locked in at some point."

"And so when the killing curse came, it had to penetrate this layer of displaced love magic," Harry concluded. "This magic that had as its only imperative, my protection."

"It would have to be very strong to repel the killing curse. If you hadn't told me it had backfired onto Voldemort, I would have simply assumed that it would have dissipated to either side."

"The magic remained with me. I can only assume that my parents locked it in somehow. Dumbledore sent me to live with my aunt, because she's a blood relative."

Marv shook his head. "I doubt Dumbledore had to do anything. Introducing a blood component like that would have effects I couldn't begin to fathom, though, judging from what you said, it would have the locking in effect."

"Dumbledore said that as long as I called my blood relation's home, my home, then I would be safe. Even after voldemort kidnapped me and used my blood to restore himself. Dumbledore said that voldemort didn't fully understand the consequences of using my blood. He thought he would gain my protection, but he didn't. Or at least, not all of it."

"These things are extremely complicated, Harry. I have no doubt that Dumbledore is one of the foremost experts in the world. Certainly, he was brilliant even in my time. I can only assume that he became more so afterwards."

"yeah. They say he's the only one Voldemort ever feared."

"I was aware that Tom was greatly concerned by Dumbledore. I know he went to lengths to find out more about him. He even considered laying low and waiting for Dumbledore to die before proceeding with his plans. It appears he didn't do that."

"No, he didn't. But he didn't know how long Dumbledore would live either, and from what I understand of him, he's arrogant. I'm sure he just decided to learn enough until he felt confident and then made his move. Besides, I don't think his followers would have been very impressed with him if he did something like that."

"True," Marv said.

"Can I ask why you're interested in all of this?"

"I'm interested because these are all concepts you should have learned by now. Even leaving aside the fact that you're supposed to know all this by fifth year, which clearly you've surpassed in your magical education, you should be learning all about this in extra detail on your own. That is, if you're serious about hunting down these horcruxes. I can tell you the kinds of things that Tom has in mind to protect them are complex and difficult to penetrate. I am sure that by the time he executes the last of them, they will require a mind as logical and as swift and as cunning as his own to destroy. Certainly now with Tom running about, you will need all you have at your disposal to bring him down. I imagine your spell casting is as strong as his - possibly stronger, and I doubt that he would have access to a wand nearly as well suited to him as yours is to you. He's probably already aware of this and will have taken steps to ensure his own safety."

"What can I expect?"

"Traps of one kind or another. It's the way his mind works. He will try to lure you into something and then catch you from behind. He will anticipate your moves, so doing something unpredictable is your best chance of getting him. This doesn't mean doing something foolhardy. It means analyzing your own interactions with him through his eyes. What does he think of you? What traits do you think he associates with you? Your behaviour? Your mannerisms? Which ones will he look to in order to exploit?"

Harry considered these questions for a long time before speaking. He had never stopped to consider what others thought of him. Okay, well that wasn't exactly true. He had spent a lot of time thinking about what others thought of him, but only with respect to all the titles that had been foisted upon him, ranging from Boy-Who-Lived to unbalanced and attention-seeking. He had never considered what his own actions had meant in creating people's understanding about him. You have a people saving thing, remember? The Dark Lord knows this about him. Harry shuddered at the memory of those phrases. For a long time, they had haunted him in those sunlit summer days that were the aftermath of the Ministry of Magic. Harry turned to Marv and said, "He thinks I'm a Gryffindor. He thinks I'm tough and brave and that whatever skills at stealth that I have I have gained through adversity. If given long enough to mull over a problem, and with enough incentive, I may or may not come up with a solution."

"Interesting," Marv said. "So that means he will try to force your hand. Probably by taking someone captive - someone you care about. He will then construct an obstacle for you that will be designed to test your upper limits. This obstacle will be a diversion from the real trap. Focusing your attention on this diversion, you will be careless and not look before you leap, so to speak, being too busy defending yourself from whatever the diversion is. You will thus fall into a trap that, ideally, will close all around you before you realize it is too late. Consider it like this. He puts a series of unstable rocks on the ground so that you're too busy watching your step and not bothering to look up, so that when you get to the end of the road, you never see the piano that falls on your head."

Harry nodded. "I understand. However, you're only missing one thing. Who's he going to capture. He doesn't know-" Harry stopped suddenly. A cold chill ran down his spine as the full implication of his own carelessness hit him. But he does know someone you care about, doesn't he? Harry thought. He knows Kittie. Sure enough, when Harry looked over to see where Kittie was, he discovered that she was no longer there. Harry jumped to his feet, knocking his chair over and swearing profusely.

Kittie had never thought of herself as a graduate of the School of Hard Knocks. her frame was lithe, not sturdy. She was soft, not hard. No, she never thought of herself as one of those gladiator types who run around getting hurt and picking themselves up and battling onwards. The sight of blood made her queasy. That is why, when she was faced with a decidedly bloody Minnie, Kittie felt suddenly paralyzed with terror. It didn't help that Minnie was in some strange halfway state between extreme calm and mania. Her eyes seemed glassy and she was prone to switching moods suddenly. Hermione would have been the only one short of Albus and Mad Eye that would have recognized the symptoms of the imperius curse. Alas, Kittie did not, and so standing in the midst of the bright sunshine of the mainway, did not have the presence of mind to fear for herself. No, she feared for Minnie.

"Are you okay?" Kittie asked tentatively, recovering from her initial shock. It was a testament to the nature of the outworlds that none of the passersby gave them a glance, despite Minnie's bloodied and haggard appearance.

"I'm fine," Minnie replied in a monotone. "Kittie." there was something the way Minnie said her name that made Kittie shiver. "You should come inside. We'll get you cleaned up." Kittie made a move to grab Minnie's hand, with the intent to gently guide her into the Red Cherry. Instead, however, Minnie whipped her hand up to Kittie's neck and lifted her off the ground. Kittie was surprised to say the least. "Minnie!" she managed, clutching futilely at the fingers that were squeezing the life from her.

"You are to come with me," said Minnie in that same monotone, and then, in a slightly strangled voice, she whispered, "I am sorry."

Minnie then threw Kittie twenty or so feet - so far that she fell under the awning of the mysterious building and out of the way of the passersby. Now, only a wizard could find her. Kittie groaned and took a moment to collect herself. She scrambled to her feet, surprised as she checked herself that she was only afflicted with superficial wounds. She had expected a broken bone at least, but from what she could tell, she had only bruises and scrapes. Minnie was coming for her, her gait a little off. What's wrong with you, Minnie?" Kittie wondered.

Kittie had stepped outside the Red Cherry because she needed fresh air. It had been a day of surprises to say the least. She had gone to the Red Cherry to find Harry and apologize and break off their budding relationship. She had realized it hadn't been quite working. After all, he had disappeared for two days without even telling her. In fact, she had wondered if he had found a way to return home and simply decided not to tell her.

all those plans had been effectively thrown out the window, however, the moment he walked through the front door. The look in his eyes had been something scary. It was a colder version of the person he had turned into when he had killed all those demons. And from there it had been one headache-inducing revelation after the next. It all seemed so farfetched. She needed a break, and now she was being dragged along through corridors of blood in a dark and mysterious office building that she was sure she didn't want to be in.

Minnie effortlessly carried Kittie along, though Kittie had never known Minnie to be a strong person. It's magic, you dolt, Kittie thought dimly. Minnie's been taken over or something. It's like the invasion of the body snatchers or something, and they've made her super strong. Kittie aimed her considerable legilimantic powers at Minnie and discovered that the normal flow of thoughts that she was used to receiving from people was gone. Instead, there was a strange sort of vacancy punctuated by single phrase imperatives. Retrieve Kittie. Bring her to me. Preferably unharmed. Use whatever force is necessary.

Kittie felt all the blood being drained from her face. Crap, she thought. I'm going to die, but not before being used as bait to lure Harry. Two weeks ago, Kittie would have wept if such a thing had happened, but now, after listening to Harry, after getting to know that monsters do exist, after having time to process and think and understand, she knew that she wouldn't cry. Not for this. No, she had to do something. Marv had said that Kittie was a powerful legilimans. He had said, during his long discussion with Harry, that her powers are probably stronger than that of the Dark Lord. She expressed this talent without even trying at an extremely early age, and she did so wandlessly.

Whatever's got Minnie, Kittie thought grimly, it's something to do with the mind. Realizing that, Kittie aimed all her energy towards delving into Minnie's mind. She had no idea what she was doing, or how she expected to accomplish freeing Minnie. All she knew was that Marv had said she could break mental defense shields. Shields were like barriers, and clearly, there had to be a barrier on Minnie's own consciousness. Using metaphors and analogies that came from old sci-fi TV shows that she barely remembered from her childhood, Kittie scoured Minnie's mind for anything that felt like it was trying to repel her.

Minnie seemed to jerk and shudder under Kittie's scrutiny, nearly toppling over and sending them rolling down the stairs, which Minnie was now traversing. Kittie knew from Minnie's instructions that she was taking Kittie to the top floor. You're going to meet the CEO, Kittie thought. The mastermind. The Dark Lord. She had to admit that she was impressed by the fact that this evil wizard could apparently do so much. Clearly he had a lot of power; not that Kittie was enticed, or anything. Simply that she was still reeling back from the realization that magic existed. Sure, she knew on some level that magic existed, or something close to it at least. Case in point, she lived in the outworld with demons. Things existed that modern science couldn't possibly understand, like her own mind reading abilities. But now, she had discovered that there was a whole world out there with civilizations and governments and wars and all kinds of things and it all ran on magic. And now she was being thrown into it. If it weren't so terrifying, she would be rather excited.

By the time they reached the top floor and entered the hallway, which was laced with soft lighting and mahogany wood, Kittie had managed to drill through most of the walls that were blocking Minnie's own mind. Through it, she could hear her friend - the person she knew would never betray her - that person was begging to be let out. I'm coming, Kittie thought, her resolve deepening. I'm almost there.

Minnie shuddered as they reached the final doorway, and Kittie could tell that she was struggling with all her might to free herself of her curse. Minnie was shaking all over, perspiration dripping from her brow, her beautiful, soft, unblemished skin contorted into a mess of lines and concentration. Kittie even saw that her dear friend was silently weeping. Hang on, girl, Kittie thought desperately. Kittie gathered her energy from all corners of her being and drove hard into Minnie's mind, cutting through the thick fog that blanketed her consciousness. She slammed up against the imperius walls that bonded Minnie and, with a deep shudder, cracked them, creating a jagged tear that ran clean across the wall. With more cracks forming each second, Kittie knew it was only time before Minnie was free. Sighing, Kittie relaxed her guard, only to discover that the door swung wide open, causing the pair of them to tumble through.

"We have to do something!" Marv said, slamming his hands down on the bar.

"We do not have to do anything," Harry said, scanning the restaurant one more time as if willing Kittie to appear by sheer force. "I am going after her."

"And I'm coming too."

"You can't be serious. You're not a wizard."

Marv looked at Harry as though he had sprouted a second head. "Because that helped you so much the last time, right?"

"I was caught off guard. I won't let that happen again." Harry turned and strode purposefully out of the bar. Marv grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and turned him about. "Don't you go being an idiot, Harry. I care about Kittie. I care about her far more than you ever could. So don't you dare stand there and lord your little, I'm a wizard and therefore the hero in this story crap over me. You of all people should understand how important it is that I come along."

Harry took a deep breath and bit back a vitriolic retort. I hate you, Tom Marvolo Riddle. You're too smart for your own good. In another life, Harry realized in that moment what it was that irritated him about Marv. No, it wasn't irritation, exactly, though it could have been in another life. No, it was that marv unnerved him. Because he's just like Hermione. He's just as brilliant as she is. That thought threatened to send him spiraling into a fantasy where Hermione became a Dark Lord - or maybe she would be called a Dark Duchess - and began a terrorist campaign against purebloods. Putting that thought out of his head, Harry addressed Marv. "All right, come on."

They then proceeded to exit the Red Cherry. Before they made it to the sidewalk, however, the sight of something truly ugly stopped them in their tracks. The monstrosity that Harry had fended off in the building - the very thing that Marv had taken Kittie to investigate last week - that thing now stood on the street corner gazing at its prey with its protuberant eyes. It emitted a long wailing sound before it pounced on the first victim. Only then did many of the indigens begin screaming in terror.

"Good grief," Marv said. "What is that thing?'

"One of Tom's pets," Harry said. We'd better find cover before it comes for us."

"Can you destroy it with magic?"

"I can try, but it'll take a whole lot of spells if at all."

"Right. Anything I can do?"

"Distract it." Harry then aimed his wand, oblivious to the incredulous look that Marv was giving him and sent the conjunctivitis curse against the creature. Harry's aim was sure and true, however, unlike last time, the creature merely blinked and then shook itself as if it were shrugging off a case of mild fatigue. Harry pursed his lips as the creature's gaze fell on him. Wonderful, Harry thought. Harry began to rattle off curses and jinxes with lightning speed. Each one was powerful in its own right, but the creature, unlike last time, seemed to have developed an immunity to them. Vaguely, Harry remembered Tom having said something about that. In no time, Harry conjured a dozen snakes to defend himself and were ordering them to attack the creature, all the while continually sending hexes of all kinds its way. The snakes, which he had thought were rather effective last time, again failed to stop the creature. Well, they seemed to be able to slow it down, but their fangs, which are poisonous to people, did little to cause the creature to swoon. Instead, Harry found himself running. The creature was upon him.

"Reducto! Reducto! Reducto!" Harry shouted, losing all semblance of calm, having been forced to run and hurl curses as fast as he could behind him. Marv must think you're a total nimrod. Harry felt its hot breath on his neck, and realized that he was losing the race. Throwing himself to one side, he managed to barely dodge the creature as it barreled forward. Looking up, Harry saw the creature turning around. "Wingardiem Leviosa!" Harry shouted, pouring all his energy into lifting the creature. To his surprise, he managed to get it a foot off the ground, where it proceeded to paw futilely at the air with all four of its legs. Harry might have found the image rather funny if the situation weren't so dire. He felt his wand trembling from the exertion, his own face was now dripping with sweat. Already he was losing control, the blood beginning to pound in his ears, the sight of the setting sun becoming too bright for him. With one final jerk, Harry swiveled the creature in mid air so it was upside down and then, feeling exhausted, let it go and made a B-line for the nearest building. He threw himself inside, locking the door behind him just as he heard the tell-tale thud of its body slamming against it. Damn damn damn! his mind screamed. Not this again! Harry raced up a flight of stairs, taking two at a time and leaving a trail of snakes in his wake. He heard the door being blown off its hinges downstairs and continued to run that much harder. He had an idea. Harry went straight for the top of the building, the creature in hot pursuit. At the top floor, snakes still pouring out of his wand like water, Harry aimed for an office in the far corner at the end of a particularly long stretch of hallway. This will be all for naught if there isn't a giant window beyond that door. To his relief, there was. Harry blew the door off its hinges and blew the desk to one side.

There he waited, his back pressed to the window, as the creature dispatched his final snake from a distance. The creature now gazed at Harry hungrily, its yellowed teeth dripping saliva and blood, its breath coming out in hot gasps, chunks of its body issuing steam and splattering luridly along the ground and walls. It emitted another wail and then charged. You've got about three seconds left, Potter, so make this quick. "Fluvius, refrigio." Water cascaded in torrents across the floor, freezing into a solid sheet of ice as it landed, and, just as Harry had finished fashioning a near-frictionless glacial arena, the creature was upon him, forcing him to throw himself hard to one side, all the while praying that the creature would shoot past him and clean through the glass wall. Harry managed to roll to a sitting position, his wand in hand, his eyes gleaning information from the wreckage that was ensuing. His first thought was to do a mental check for any torn limbs or cuts, but he pushed that aside and stared at the creature, which had rammed through the glass, causing shards to spray outward like jagged raindrops, where they seemed to hang for a moment in the sunshine, twinkling fiercely before plummeting to the pavement below. The creature, meanwhile, began shrieking like a little girl as its momentum carried it forward and over the edge, bits of glass embedded in its torso and face, jutting out like razors. The creature continued shrieking all the way down, and abruptly ceased as it struck the ground, the thud being punctuated by first a popping sound like that of a balloon and then squelching and spraying sounds. Harry picked himself up and, being careful on the slippery surface, took a tentative step toward the edge. When he peered down, he saw the remains of the creature were in full view. The gore dispersion pattern was extremely large. The ichor that had seeped out of its body formed a pool that had a ten metre radius, chunks of its body slowly floating about as the substance coagulated. Beyond the blast point were a thousand drops of blood that had sprayed the roadway and many passersby who looked upon the creature with utter shock.

"Come on," he told himself. "You have to get moving." Tearing his eyes away from the creature, Harry made his way to the first floor and through the front entrance. From there, he could see the creature's remains up close and personal, but decided not to pay it any attention. He had bigger fish to fry and it was time he got onto it.

It took a moment for Kittie to understand what it was that she was looking at, when she finally managed to disentangle herself from Minnie. Before her, in what was the most opulent room she had ever seen, stood a figure she recognized very well. It was Marv. And yet it wasn't. Despite the near identical version of Marv in front of her - the only physical difference being that this one looked a bit younger - there was something about his eyes and his smile that seemed infinitely colder than the person she knew. No, this was Tom. This was the dreaded Dark Lord that had terrorized Harry; the one who was controlling her friend, Minnie. She now understood why it was that Harry had had such a violent reaction to seeing Marv. They were so closely matched in terms of looks that even she was hard pressed to find much in the way of differences. By all accounts, they could be identical twins.

Kittie was acutely aware of the wand that Tom was twirling between his fingers, acutely aware that he could inflict a lot of damage with it. He seemed content not to say anything, and Kittie wasn't sure whether she should break the silence. Part of her wanted to simply flee, but part of her felt a thrill as though being caught up in the whirlwind nightmare of Harry's world could somehow give her life greater meaning. Here, she could make a difference.

Kittie considered attempting her legilimancy on him, but she decided that he probably didn't know about it and she should hold onto that surprise for when he was distracted. Besides, she wasn't sure what she could do apart from read his thoughts, and from what Marv said, such an intrusion would not go unnoticed. So, she left that skill aside and decided to simply ask a question, if for no other reason, then to alleviate the tension that was building up in her. "Why have you brought me here?" she asked.

Tom raised an eyebrow as if amused by the question. "It appears we have a mutual acquaintance," he replied. "I would very much hope that he takes the time to visit."

"Harry?" Kittie ventured.

Tom's eyes lit up with glee. "Yes, Harry. Tell me, do you know if he'll come to retrieve you?"

Kittie considered the question carefully, though not to ascertain what the truthful answer should be. No, she decided she wanted to give him the most disadvantageous information she could think of; it was a game she had learned long ago.

"I don't know."

There was a shriek down below, and Kittie saw that Tom's smirk had widened into a full blow grin.

"What was that?" Kittie asked nervously.

"I have freed my pet. I no longer have use for it."

"Your pet?"

"We need not discuss these things, Kittie. Locomodore mortis." In a flash, Kittie felt her legs go rigid and attach themselves to the floor. With his wand, Tom guided her to a seat in the far corner, and plunked her down in the seat. "You can watch."

"Why are you doing this?" Kittie asked. She discovered that she wasn't afraid exactly. No, it was more a matter of curiosity. She really couldn't understand what drove Tom, and it made her want to know. In some deeper region of her mind, she felt it would help her to understand Marv, if she knew what part of his psyche he had been running from.

Something in Kittie's tone seemed to motivate Tom to answer, for he began speaking about it. "When I was young, I was a nobody. I was one indistinguishable kid amongst a mass of kids, each as indistinct as the next. I knew that from very early on when I saw the parents come by the orphanage and choose among us like we were pets. I wanted to be a parent you see. Well, not a parent per se. No, what I wanted was to be in their position. I envied the power they had to choose what they wanted. I want to choose things. for myself. Anything and everything. I found out that I could control others, and that was a good thing. The more people I control, the more things I can choose to do. That made me feel good. I continued with that, until I was a teenager, and then I realized that I wanted to control everything about myself. But I knew that there was one thing I couldn't control. It's something none of us can control apparently. Do you know what that is?"

Kittie shook her head. She had never been a philosophical sort.

"Death, Kittie. One day I would die and there would be nothing I could do about it. Well, I was a pretty smart kid; everyone told me so. I could do anything, they said. So, I figured I would take control of that one final thing that was out of my hands. I would do what no one before me has ever done before. I would choose when to die. And so, it appears that I have chosen. In fact, I have chosen never to die at all."

"You can't die?" Kittie asked in a small voice. It was only now starting to dawn on her the true magnitude of what it meant to fight the Dark Lord. She had seen magic sure enough, and she had understood Harry's conversation with Marv for the most part, but she had assumed that, when you could do anything like the way Harry could, what more was there to fight against. But, no, it wasn't that simple. This being could be who knows how old. In fact, she had started to glean from Marv's monologues that he was older than he looked. How old was Tom? How much experience and knowledge did he really have? Kittie had no idea. He could be like a thousand years old or something, if he can't die. Not to mention the fact that he would be pretty hard to kill.

"I see you understand," Tom said, nodding. "I was born in 1941, if you're interested."

"So you've conquered death."

Tom let out a laugh. A long, bitter, cynical laugh. "That's the truly sad part, Kittie. I didn't really conquer anything. I will never have control." Tom's expression turned pensive, as he frowned in contemplation. "No, I have no control whatsoever."

"I don't understand."

"No, you wouldn't. I suppose it doesn't matter much one way or the other. You see, I am but a mere servant to the Dark Lord. He can call me at a whim. I can die, but he cannot. I am nothing. I am a slave and all the things I control are mere illusions. All my work, decades of labour, can be quelled by a mere thought. His thought. No, I have no control. I only have this pathetic borrowed existence that he has given me. It all rests with him. I cannot harm him. I cannot do anything to him. I am a piece of him. I am nothing so long as he is around, and he will be around forever, which means that I am nothing and will continue to be nothing until the end of time. I am a mockery. I am a simulacrum of that which is powerful, but I am not it. I am not powerful. I am nothing. I am simply nothing."

Kittie couldn't say that she understood the whys and wheres of Tom's monologue, but she certainly understood the bitterness that sizzled beneath the words. Yes, she had been bitter like that too once. She supposed she always would be. No matter, what, no matter where she went or who accepted her, she would always know that her parents - her true parents - had rejected her. Nothing could clean away that taint; that feeling of rejection, of loss, of self-loathing. She could only seem to find respite from it through her own warm laughter and that of those she called friends. She supposed that finding acceptance in others was the only way for her to heal from that wound, and she wondered how this creation, this monster of some Frankenstein wannabe, who lurked about out there in the world, overshadowing him, how did he cope?

"What are you going to do about it?" Kittie questioned tentatively. She wasn't sure how long her luck would run for. Eventually Marv and Harry would come for her; at least she hoped. She just knew that she had to make it that long. It didn't hurt that she was starting to take a genuine interest in Tom's affairs. To her, it sounded like he needed serious therapy, though she didn't think she had the courage to suggest such a thing.

Tom seemed to be considering the question. He stroked his chin as he stared to a point far and away, past the walls and the horizon into the infinity that was his own cognition. "I have pondered it for a long time," he began softly. "At first I did not wish to believe it were so. When I awoke, I felt nothing but greatness surge through my veins. I felt... invigorated. It was only until after a time, when I realized how deeply the Dark Lord Voldemort had penetrated all aspects of the wizarding world. I knew when I read of the Dark Marks floating above the destroyed houses of all those who were dirty and weak or foolish enough to oppose him - I knew I should be feeling good. I was supposed to feel that our plan was succeeding. My plan. My plan was succeeding, yes. But I didn't feel it. I didn't feel anything at all. They weren't my death eaters anymore. People didn't fear me, or bend to my will. I walked up and down the streets of Diagon Alley, and no one cared. Where was my control? What power was this that was supposed to give me solace? There was none. It did not lie with me, and, when I realized that, I knew that I had made a grave miscalculation. That part of me that had been Slytherin had tricked me. I was too Ravenclaw, and not enough Slytherin, yes. He never would have been anywhere if it weren't for me. I gave his schemes style. I turned them into works of art. Lucius never would have followed a half-blood if it weren't for me. I convinced them; they were mine. No one else's; not his. I was supposed to be in control, not him. I was supposed to be spinning those luxurious webs; maneuvering people like pawns - like macabre marionettes. But he slipped through my fingers and took control."

Oblivious to Kittie's distaste, Tom continued, still dwelling in his own personal Hell. "I tried to kill him. It was on Walpurgis Night. I used my keen intellect, my artful skills of deduction to track and predict his movements. I found him in the midst of a revel, using human blood to strengthen his grip on his magic. He was learning to enchant corpses to do his bidding. I watched him from the shadows; watched as he squandered away his chance to sow the seeds of Dumbledore's destruction. He could have done it without ever lifting a single finger, but no, he always wanted to give into those baser urges of carnage and destruction. How could he not see that all that mattered was his mind? That brute force, as spectacular as it was tactically, would always ruin a perfectly good strategy? No, he couldn't see that. I wanted to kill him right then and there. I wanted to slap him down for his idiocy right in front of all his death eaters. No - my death eaters. The ones he stole from me. But I contained that urge, because I knew it would do no good. They would not see me as their new master. They would kill me outright. I followed him, and waited until I caught him alone. I felt it when he apparated; I felt his wards, when he raised them and when he took them down. They were nothing for me to evade. I stealthed across his fortress like a shadow, like a whisper. I found him sleeping peacefully on that night. I pointed my wand at him and whispered the words of the killing curse - the one curse that is unblockable - the most feared curse in the world. Do you know what happened?"

"No," Kittie said, but Tom didn't seem to hear her.

"I waited three seconds for that green light to shine from my wand and engulf him, to rip his soul from his body and send it to oblivion. Three seconds before I realized it wasn't coming. I tried a hundred times, or maybe only that once. I don't know; I don't care. I knew it wouldn't work. I couldn't kill him. Not with magic. And I knew with crystal clarity the reason for it. If I killed him, I too would have to die. No plan could I foresee where I could escape that inevitability. And so I fled. I fled for a long time before finally coming here. And it took me even longer to realize what this place was, but eventually that too became clear to me."

Before he could expound on his theory about the nature of the fringe worlds, the door was thrown open, swiftly putting an end to tom's diatribe. Standing on the threshold was none other than Marv, his hair slicked back with sweat, panting breathily in the ensuing silence, his plain white button-up work shirt half-untucked from the waistband of his midnight black pants. Tom, who had been waiting for such an entry, was quick to level his wand and prepare a good curse for the intruder. Realizing that it wasn't in fact Harry, Tom screwed his face into a scowl and reluctantly lowered his wand. "What do you want?" he asked, distaste obvious in his voice.

Without so much as hesitating Marv strode right up to Tom, their close proximity to one another highlighting all the intricate similarities that they shared and punched him clean in the face with one hand and snatching his wand deftly with the other. tom recoiled hard, stumbling backward and tripping over the leg of his own desk, forcing him to thud softly against the expensive carpet. Marv then proceeded to lift Tom's wand in both hands and bring it down hard upon his knee, effectively snapping it in half.

"That's enough of that, wouldn't you say, old friend?" Marv asked bitterly.

"What the Hell did you do that for?" Tom raged, jumping to his feet. "Are you mad?"

"You better believe I'm mad," Marv responded hotly, deliberately misinterpreting the meaning of Tom's words. "You should have thought long and hard before kidnapping Kittie. Not to mention letting that monstrosity loose on the town."

"What, you think I had something to do with bringing that green-eyed pest here?"

"What?"

"That wizard with the horribly unkempt black hair."

It took Marv a moment to realize that the monstrosity that he was referring to was not the same thing that Tom was referring to. "You're calling Harry a monstrosity?" Marv asked, curiosity and incredulity tinging his voice. "Are you daft? You let that giant man-eating beast loose. God only knows if Harry managed to destroy it."

At this, Tom looked infinitely smug. "I doubt it. My little pet is new and improved. Your wizard friend is hardly in a position to kill it. Not unless he can pull off a patronus."

"A patronus?" Marv asked.

"Yeah. You see, that creature isn't exactly alive. The only thing that seems to have any permanent effect on it is the patronus, which seems to cause it pain that ultimately renders it unconscious. Otherwise, it responds to attacks by adapting and growing stronger."

"Yes, and you let it run amuck in the streets. Can't be good for business. What were you thinking?"

"I have no more use for it, old friend. I have succeeded in my quest. It's all here." Tom made a sweeping gesture towards the room with one hand extended. "I have unlocked the mysteries to the fifth dimension. I am going to get the hell out of dodge and build my own life free of the Dark Lord. I'm cutting my way through this reality and into another one, and there I will be able to sever my connection to that mockery of a man and begin my plans for world domination."

"You can't be serious," Marv said, barely able to contain his surprise. Sure, he had known about his soul-brother's lunatic attempt to bridge the gap between worlds and escape what he saw as his own private prison, but he had always comforted himself with the knowledge that it was a fool's errand.

"But I am. And, since you're here, I'm going to offer only once, the opportunity for you to come and join me. I have no doubt that, despite your disability, you could find suitable employment under my new regime."

Marv continued to be flabbergasted. "You're offering me a job?"

Something in Marv's tone or perhaps the way he phrased it made Tom hesitate. With uncertainty in his voice, he said, "Well, yeah. Wouldn't you want to tag along? You could be my servant."

Marv stood stock still for what seemed like a long time, the firelight from the setting sun turning his skin golden as he stared at his counterpart. He remembered those long nights in the Slytherin common room while his larger self schemed away, devising his nefarious plans to divide his own soul. He had been brilliant; Marv had always known that. Tom Marvolo Riddle, in all his glory, was one of the few people in the world to have ever uncovered and properly executed the creation of a horcrux - one of the darkest necromantic rituals ever concocted by humans. Even better, he had managed to modify it to create not just one but six of them - a feat never before seen by the wizarding world. Marv was probably the only part of that young Riddle boy that ever bothered to ask the question, "Why?" He couldn't fathom ever wanting such a life for himself, even though he understood on some level what drove others. And now, staring at Tom's eager face, his glittering eyes that mirrored Marv's own, Marv could only muster a vague sort of pity. Tom's lonely, he thought. When you put everyone beneath you, you destroy your own freedom and you replace your own happiness with unbridled fear. "I'm sorry, Tom. I don't think that our destinies are co-aligned."

The momentary hesitation from Tom's posture disappeared. "I understand. I suppose I shouldn't expect much from you. No offense. It's just that, you're a muggle. You don't feel the pulse of magic in your veins, how it calls to you when you walk down the streets of Diagon Alley, when you step through the front gates of Hogwarts for the first time. It's alive, and it begs to let it wrap itself around you. Tom stared out the window at the citizens below, the street marred with the blood of the many victims that his pet had ravaged during its short, ill-fated foray into the public. "I just don't want to be like them. I-" He cut himself off and let out a long sigh. "It doesn't matter. I was going to snag Harry's wand, but without my own, it'll probably be impossible." Tom snorted. "You came here to stop me from hurting Harry, didn't you?"

"Among other things," Marv admitted.

"Are you going to stop me from taking the portal too?" Tom asked, resigned bitterness in his tone.

Marv had never really considered that he had the power to stop Tom. He knew that what Tom wanted was cruel and would cause the deaths of many people, and, while Marv could never imagine committing those acts of his own volition, he couldn't quite manage to bring himself to stop the person with whom he had shared a head for the better part of his youth. "Just promise me you'll try to rule with love before you rule with fear."

Tom considered the question thoughtfully before nodding. "I will."

"Go then."

"All right." Tom waved one hand over to the mahogany panel that Jack had thrown Harry through just days ago, and, when it shimmered for a brief second, Tom nodded as if satisfied. He then walked through without sparing a glance backwards. Once through, the wood panel shimmered once again, sealing itself off.

"Erm, where am I?" Minnie asked, blinking owlishly.

Just then, Harry dashed into the room, wand-waving chaotically in the air as he prepared to pounce on his quarry, a wild light of battle fury in his eyes. Looking around at the neatly organized knick-knacks and the absence of a struggle, along with his three allies and no foe, Harry reluctantly lowered his wand and asked, "What happened? Where's Tom?"

Marv, ignoring both Minnie and Harry's questions, walked purposefully to Kittie and extended his hand. "You okay?"

She looked at it quizzically for a moment and then took it, letting Marv help her to her feet, so that they were surprisingly close to one another. She looked intently into his eyes and said in a quiet voice that betrayed the depths of her feelings. "You came for me."

"Had you any doubt?"

"I never thought-"

"Kittie," he said, his voice almost a whisper and yet full of emotion. "Kittie, I've never been the courageous sort, I'll admit. I never thought I was much of anything, really. I'm not even really human, and I probably won't live for very long, if Harry has anything to say about it." They both instinctively glanced over at him, but he had clearly taken more of an interest in the Huffelpuff cups, which were still sitting on Tom's miniature bar.

"Marv-" Kittie began, trying to interject.

"No, let me finish, Kittie." Marv took a deep breath and steeled himself for the remainder of his delivery. "I've never held my life at a pin's fee. You probably don't know that; I mean, we all have our crosses to bear in this place. We're all outcasts, so it's no surprise that I have a self-esteem issue, and maybe it was arrogant of me to think that my problems were bigger than yours or anyone else's. I've been wallowing a secret well of self-pity for so long that it's hard for me to feel my emotions anymore. But, when it was clear that you were missing, I-" Marv paused, struggling for the words, searching his vast repertoire of knowledge for the terms and phrases that would articulate his feelings, "I felt like a bit of me had just stopped right then and there. It was like all my focus became directed for one single task and that was to find you and make sure you're safe at all costs. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?" Marv felt suddenly foolish, as though he had just served his heart on a platter and was waiting for Kittie to begin mincing it up and serving it to any casually interested passerby. He supposed that that was exactly what he had done.

"Marv," she said, staring fixedly at his chest, and thinking furiously. then she looked up and smiled a dazzling smile that made his heart flutter. Marv knelt in close and kissed her.

Just then, they heard an explosion from behind them, causing them both to whirl around in fright. Harry stood, smiling happily. "Got the bastard," he said jovially, waving in the direction of the huffelpuff cups, which were now shredded to bits after having been hit with a particularly nasty blasting hex.

Marv didn't have the heart to tell Harry that Tom was probably alive and sipping pina coladas in another dimension. It was enough, he supposed, that either way, the connection to the Dark Lord had been severed and Harry could continue pursuing his demons. That thought, however, brought Marv back to the inevitability that he and Harry would have to fight one another, or at least come to some form of reconciliation, though Marv doubted that Harry would take anything less than the complete eradication of the Dark Lord Voldemort from the Earth, and Marv couldn't fathom how that would be done without realizing his own demise.

"That's another one down," Harry said, grinning.

"Yeah," Marv said, smiling wanly.

It was then that Harry realized Marv was holding Kittie in a rather romantic embrace. "Er, you two want to tell me something?"

Marv and Kittie looked at each other and they both said in unison, "Yes."

However, before they could say anything, there came a rumbling from somewhere deep within the building. The floor started to shake, cracks were forming and each of the four occupants began to look around nervously. "Er," Harry began uncertainly. "Maybe it's time we departed this mortal coil." However, as though activated by Harry's words, the door swung shut, effectively boxing them in. Marv, Kittie and Minnie all turned to Harry, expecting him to wave his wand and save them all, but Harry merely stood there ruffling his hair. He turned to the window to cast a curse. "Reducto," he said in a clear, calm tone. Again a thin beam of light burst from his wand and hit the window, though, instead of shattering it merely bounced off and nicked Harry in the shoulder, causing him to stumble, a surprised look on his face. He righted himself as well as he could on the now trembling carpet. "Well, slap me silly and call me Suzy," he said, turning to the others. "Any suggestions?"

"That's it?" Kittie asked, dumbfounded. "All your amazing magical powers and that's the best you can do?"

"Well, excuse me, princess," Harry said defensively. "Why don't you use your apparently world class mind powers to get us the hell out of here."

Before Kittie could respond, an enormous chunk of the ceiling came crashing down between them, throwing Harry to one side. He glanced up at the dark wood panelling and remembered that there had been some sort of doorway there beforehand. He put his hands on the wood, feeling for any give, barely listening to the others behind him growing more and more panicked. Eventually, Harry resorted to unlocking charms and other things before he remembered with sudden clarity how Dumbledore had opened the doorway in the cave just weeks ago, and Harry knew without a doubt that he could open that damned doorway. Without hesitating, he made a slit on his thumb and sent drops of blood spattering across the wall. It shimmered.

"Hey guys," Harry called, beckoning them to come near with his bloody thumb. "I think I got us a way out of here.

Before waiting for anyone to object, Harry pushed through and disappeared.

Marv and Kittie, on the other hand, were so utterly gobsmacked that they simply stood there, plaster and concrete raining around them like hail, completely incapable of processing what Harry had just done. Finally, as yet another crack appeared in the floor, this one large enough to swallow a rat, Kittie said, "Where do you suppose that thing leads?"

"The best I figure, either Tom got it right and it'll take us to another dimension, or Tom got it wrong and we'll all be shredded like mozzarella cheese."

"Do you suppose he's going to need some help?" Kittie asked. "I mean, he's not exactly the brightest bulb in the batch, if you know what I mean."

Marv smiled. "Like I said before, all braun and no brains."

Kittie smiled at his little joke.After several more seconds of existing in what was a fairly perilous situation, Kittie finally said, "So?"

Marv seemed to consider the question as though his life depended on it, which, in fact, it did. "You know, yesterday I'd have to say you'd need to be right crazy to go jumping into the abyss without any conception of what lies await. It doesn't help that Harry intends to kill me, either. Still, I'm rather fond of the poor sod, and it's probably best we go keep an eye on him."

Kittie nodded, processing Marv's words. She then looked up at him and gave him that dazzling smile that made his insides warm. "Yeah. Besides, could be fun."

He smiled broadly, her mere gaze able to drown him in bliss despite the imminent danger all around. "Could be," he agreed.

"Um, guys?" Minnie asked tentatively from behind. Kittie turned to her and saw that she seemed to be coming out of her mental stupor. "Where are we?"

"We're going on an adventure, Minnie. Would you like to come along?" Kittie asked gently.

Minnie looked down at the carpet, which was slowly being sucked into one of the dark chasms below. She had that same intent look that Lavender Brown got when deciphering tea leaves. Finally she said, "Yeah. That'd be nice."

With that, the trio followed Harry into unknown territory.

A/N: For those of you who may be concerned that I am writing an original story dressed in fanfiction clothing, rest assured we are on the brink of returning to the wizarding world, and all that that entails.

Also, it has come to my attention that my spelling hasn't been the best. Sorry. I'll try to do better in the future.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I totally don't own anything related to Harry Potter.

Chapter Seven

The Other Side of the Fence

Over the years, Ronald Weasley had been many things. He had been hotheaded, slow-witted uninspired, lazy, misguided, below average, short sighted, clueless, and, of course, arachnophobic. He could, to his dismay, count the number of good qualities he possessed on one hand, and, to his further dismay, when critically re-evaluating his life experiences, discovered that many of his apparent good qualities often took a back seat to one or more of his shortcomings. All in all, Ron was a failure. And, nestled comfortably in his small cot, beset by the orange glow of sunlight reflecting off his innumerable Cannons posters, Ron started to realize his own inferiority. At first, amidst the muffled din of conversation and activity that was taking place down below, Ron felt both heavy and tired from this knowledge. It wasn't even so much that he was a below average person, he decided. No, it was more that the circumstances of his life demanded that he rise to be above average. You're a sheltered sod, he thought. You act like a sheltered sod. People treat you like one. Nobody ever treated Harry like a sheltered sod, and so he doesn't act like one. Hermione, he supposed, fell somewhere in the middle. She was a sheltered sod too, but she also, for some odd reason, had the presence of mind to escape. probably due to her acute obsession with information gathering. You just couldn't put a muzzle on someone who kept asking questions.

It hadn't been two weeks into the summer and Ron had already begun to feel a sinking sensation in his gut. He had never before contemplated - not in any meaningful sense, anyway - what his future life was going to look like. He had fancied himself a Quidditch player at one point, and an auror at another. He had even considered life like his dad, toiling away at the ass end of the Ministry, content to generate babies hand over fist and bring home modest pay to an overbearing, domineering wife. he had even picked Hermione to be that special someone that would help him continue the Weasley legacy. Those dreams, which had once been close to his heart, now seemed to be draining away, oozing out of his skin like perspiration, or settling into his bowels for discharge at a later date. There was something in him that was disappearing and it was leaving a hollowness in its place. An emptiness, like a vacuum and his body was not happy with it.

"Ron!" came the ringing call of his mother, who had clearly realized that he had forgotten to de-gnome the garden, and was now ready to chastise him for it. Shrugging his melancholy mood to the back of his mind, Ron descended the splintered and creaking steps to the main floor, where he spied about for signs of life. Beyond the doorway in the kitchen, he could hear his mother bustling about. Ginny was probably upstairs lazing about or flipping through one of her endless copies of Teen Witch Weekly. Rustling up his Gryffindor courage, Ron entered the kitchen and braced for impact.

"Ron, there you are!" his mother cried out in her usual, overdramatic, motherly way. "What did I tell you about-"

"The garden?"

"Yes!"

"Every day I'm late doing it, I lose a knut on my monthly allowance. Yes, I remember." The weariness from before threatened to flood back in, and, in an attempt to preempt it, Ron gave his mother a disarming smile and strode purposefully out the back kitchen door and into the garden, his will bent on beginning the tedious process of extricating the quasi-sentient potato-like creatures from their property.

The sun was about, the sky was a clear blue, owls drifted lazily by as if enjoying the perfect temperature that had settled over Ottery St. Catchpole. A light wind rustled through the grass as Ron knelt down and yanked the first gnome by its thick, matted hair. He swung it about, cognizant of the all too familiar sensation of the centripetal force pulling at his biceps right before he gave it the customary send off. About fifty yards away, he could make out Fleur transfiguring objects around the house, probably to make the premises look prettier for the upcoming wedding. Given that the Burrow had been continuously collecting wards over the past year, it had become one of the most heavily guarded homes in Britain. He supposed it made sense, since, despite their financial situation, they were one of the oldest pureblood families. His parents probably had secret wards known only to them; much like the Malfoys, Parkinsons, Zabinis, etc.

Wards, Ron mused, noting the swish as his next victim went sailing through the air. He had never given much thought to the concept until now, for even he, as blind as he was to the more subtle arts of magic, could now feel the intensity of the energy that permeated the boundaries of his home. It was like a chronic tingle that rushed and ebbed and rushed again, depending on the time of day, the place where he was, his feelings, even. It was electric and often comforting, despite being a stark reminder of the very real danger they were all in. As the sun settled across the reddening horizon, Ron caught the sound of a crow cawing in the distance, and soon the faint smell of smoke caught his attention. It was drifting lazily through the air, light at first and thickening as time past. Peripherally, he noticed Bill return and sweep his fiancée into the air, the sound of her inarticulate cries of joy piercing the quietude. Even from this distance, Ron could feel the effects of her vila charm; something he had grown to loathe since his return. It wasn't so much the embarrassment from having everyone know that he was being affected, the loss of attention, of focus, which was acutely difficult to bear in Hermione's presence. No, it wasn't that, at least not primarily. What he hated most about it, was the feeling like he couldn't even control his mind. It was that he was affected more than others; more than he felt he ought to be, especially now that he was with Hermione. Ron pursed his lips and was gearing up to tear the last gnome from the garden when the smell of smoke assaulted his senses once again. Only this time, it was accompanied by the smell of burnt wood and the acrid smell of burning hair. Glancing around, Ron could not find anything out of the ordinary, but that wasn't saying much. Wizards, despite the obvious flaws of the sense, relied too heavily on their vision. Ron picked his way toward where he thought the smell was coming from, scaling the Burrow's fence and dropping into a crouched position in the shadows of the unknown spaces between his and the neighbour's lawn. They lived in a community interspersed with wizards and muggles alike. He knew the Lovegoods were about somewhere, and wondered idly if they were in the direction he was now heading.

The area was typically suburban, though the houses tended to range in size and quality. some were narrow and others squat; some brick and one was adobe - which clearly had to be a magical home. The houses tended to have sprawling lawns that made them each look more like an acreage - especially with the long, flat expanse of grass in which a muggle playpark was situated. As Ron made it to the end of his street, his nose taking him as far as he could go before the smell of burning substances overwhelmed him from all sides, he took a moment to watch the children laughing and prancing about, chasing one another, kicking sand into the clear late afternoon air, oblivious to the dark days in which they lived. Ron's gaze fell on a home across the street. There was something funny about it, though he couldn't quite put his fingers on what the problem was. Screwing up his face in concentration, he peered closely at the windows to see what it was. To his dismay, he couldn't make out anything - not even the type of blinds they were using. Ron glanced about again, feeling as though he were exposed somehow, and on the cusp of something extremely dangerous. And then it hit him. The thing that made their house somehow different from others - that thing that made it seem darker, more full of shadows. There was some sort of repulsion charm, or confundus charm or something on the windows. Something more than the usual muggle blockers. No someone was doing something rather private in there, and Ron suddenly got an uneasy feeling about it. Sure, people were allowed to do private things, but from what he understood, fog charms and other devices were the regime of defense spells. They were the kind of stuff that was used in espionage, not as a privacy ward. For those, people preferred having faux images or enchanted shutters. Fog and confundus charms were multi-layered and designed to ward off more than just passersby. Possibly even Moody's magical eye.

And so, standing there, Ron suddenly felt lost. He felt like he were at a crossroads, not just because he was at a t-intersection, or because he had to decide whether he was going to Hogwarts next term, though that was part of it. He had to decide whether he was going to go forward and investigate, or whether he was going to go home and pretend that nothing was going on. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, where his conscience lay - he knew that he was not destined for greatness like Harry. He wasn't the kind of guy who pulled off a patronus at the age of thirteen. Harry had been given great responsibility, and the means to fulfill those responsibilities. Ron was not, but that didn't mean, he realized with a jolt, that he couldn't take on great responsibilities for himself. It just meant that, when he did, if he did, it would be hard earned. Steeling himself to investigate what could be anywhere from Moody-esque paranoia to a seriously dangerous situation, Ron pressed forward and crossed the street.

He supposed he could have simply knocked on the door - maybe that would have been the sensible, neighbourly sort of inquiry that friendly, unsuspecting neighbourly types were supposed to engage in, but he didn't. Instead, Ron stealthed to the edges of the property, and closed in to one side of the house where windows did not put him in plain view of the houses' occupants. From there, Ron edged towards the back and, when finding that the back windows had been charmed also, kept to the sides where he could remain invisible. Think, Ron thought bitterly, think about this. It's like chess. They're busy guarding the squares they're interested in. They would only charm a window if they were moving through that room. Those are the squares that are being guarded. You need to move around on the squares that are not guarded, and that means finding a window that hasn't been charmed. Ron continued to ghost around the house, checking to see if there were a queen guarding the area from a distance. That would have been a sensible move. On the other side of the house, Ron found that there were basement windows that hadn't been charmed. Ron knelt down and peered through, not surprised that everything looked quite normal for a typical muggle house. Ron pulled back sharply, thinking furiously. Muggle house? If it were a muggle house, then clearly there shouldn't have been such a heavy ward on the windows. Why would muggles need such a thing? Ron felt his heart start to race more quickly, and despite several attempts to calm himself down as he nestled in the crook of a pair of vent shafts, barely aware of the warm breeze that rushed out of them and warmed his now chilled, dew-stained fingers. Ron whispered the unlocking charm and slipped through the basement window. His shoes made a hard clicking sound on the cement floor and he silently castigated himself for his carelessness. He quickly used a silencing charm on his shoes and then crept forward, careful not to run into any of the scattered toys and other objects that littered the floor. In the gloom, he could make out a television that had been taken apart. Ron smiled, thinking of his father and stopped to peer at the object. Amongst the mish-mash of circuits, Ron could make out a label, though he didn't understand the significance: IF YOU CAN READ THIS, THEN YOU ARE BEING EXPOSED TO X-RAY RADIATION.

Ron shook his head and made his way to the steps leading upstairs. He suddenly wished he had a version of the marauder's map and an invisibility cloak. He had crept around at night so many times with those things that they had become necessities in his adventures with Harry. Aware that he, despite having the same level of education as the marauder's still could not even begin to comprehend how they had made such a thing, began to feel suddenly inadequate. What was he doing in the middle of some stranger's home where death eaters could be lurking? He was just a kid, wasn't he? Sure, he had tangled with bad guys at the DOM, but he had been disabled within the first three minutes. Hardly a record to be proud of, especially when he ended up doing more bad than good in the end. Even his baby sister had put up more of a fight than he did. Certainly she hadn't gone around trying to grope an evil brain. As for the battle at Hogwarts, it was hardly him that had been doing all the work. He doubted he would have even survived if it hadn't been for the potion. Where's your resolve he wondered. People could be being tortured up there. Go.

By the time Ron made it halfway up the stairs, he could here voices. As he neared, they sharpened into articulable, comprehendible sounds. There were at least two men, and they were eating and drinking, which Ron could tell by the slur in their voices as they chatted to one another. The way they were cutting into each other's sentences made him think that they were probably alone. He decided to wait a few minutes to try and get a sense of who they were as well as glean any other useful information. As well, he wanted to make sure that there weren't any others in the house. Possibly someone in the bathroom.

From what he could gather, they were making fun of muggle technologies.

"Funny, eh? They got here these here moving pictures in the box, but they can't get a photo up and running. Bloody ridiculous." Whoever they were, Ron thought, they weren't from around here. Their accents made him think they were somewhere from the midlands, given that they didn't quite finish their words in some places.

"And ye gotta look at all these funny shaped holes they got in the walls. Damn ugliest thing I ever seen."

"It's the ekeltricity they use fer everythin'."

"Mmm, yeah, I remember the last li'l cunt saying somethin' about that."

They both broke out into raucous laughter at their last statement. "That was a good one. Little muggle just kept cryin' and cryin'."

"Ah, yeah. Muggles. Always be good for a laugh."

"Secrecy laws," the other man said, sobering quickly. "Best thing Ministry's ever done for us."

They both broke out into laughter again. "Accio beer!" one of them called. A bottle came sailing from the basement, clanking about as it hit the railing on its way up. Ron had to do some fancy footwork that had required him to throw himself against a wall to avoid the glass projectile. he couldn't quite tell, but he hoped that he hadn't made any sounds that reached their ears. If he were lucky, he could just wait and they'd get really drunk.

From the conversation that ensued, Ron figured they weren't the wiser. They drifted from one subject to the next, and Ron was starting to form a picture of who these people were. Clearly they didn't seem to have any morals, judging from the acts they'd committed; acts which made Ron ill just thinking about. Still, he wasn't sure they were death eaters until they started talking about that very subject.

"Eh, Ernie. I been meaning to ask you something."

The other, who Ron now regarded as Ernie, seemed to sober up for real and look closely at his comrade. "Yeah, Bert?"

"I's thinkin' about, well..." he trailed off for a moment, as if gathering his nerve, "well, I been thinking about joining You-Know-Who and his death eaters."

Ernie was clearly taken by surprise, as evidenced by the fact that he spewed beer all over himself at Bert's statement. "Wha-fuck?"

"Well, think about it. Would it really be so bad? I mean, we're both sorta purebloods. We ain't exactly law abidin' and they could, you know, give us power and stuff. We'd be feared. Respected even."

"I dunno, Bert. Heard some terrible things about those types. They don't take failure well, y'know. I ain't never been that good at magic, or taking orders for that matter." Ernie gave out a nervous chuckle. "Tell ya the truth. I never used the unforgiveables. And I ain't never killed a wizard."

"Yeah, but if we apply ourselves. We could go somewhere. We could be somebodies. You-Know-Who ain't stupid. He won't send us to do things we can't handle. Maybe they'd even teach us stuff. Like a trainin' camp. Y'know. For death eaters or apprentices or some such."

This last thought made Ernie quiet, and Ron simply waited with bated breath for the answer. Finally, Ernie spoke. "You know, some times I think you're the dumbest fuckin' sod in the world, Bert. And then you turn out somethin' this bloody brilliant! Do ya know where we sign up?"

Ron grimaced. Good grief, he thought.

"I think it's time we break out the big guns. Have ourselves a the main course. Whatcha think?"

Grinning, Ernie agreed vehemently.

"Oy, sugar!" Bert called. Ron turned around, terrified for a moment that there was someone behind him. When he saw that there was nobody, he wondered if maybe they had found him out. Before long however, he heard the click of a door being opened and saw that one of the bedroom doors had a person occupying the threshold. Ron tensed, wondering if he should fight or flee. But before he could make a decision, he saw that it was a little girl who was coming out, and she was dressed in a pair of flannel pajamas, all the while clutching a ragged little blood-stained teddy bear. There was a glazed look in her eyes and tearstains streaking her face. The sight of her put Ron on edge, and he wondered what it was about her that disturbed him so deeply. As she stood at the top of the stairs, and he wondered whether she would betray his position, it suddenly struck him what was so wrong with her. She didn't even glance his way as she proceeded to the two men. She's under the imperius, Ron thought, appalled. All the scenes that Ron could comprehend that involved her and the two men left him paralyzed with horror.

The sound of one of them cooing softly to her and inviting her closer snapped Ron back to attention. Even if he wanted to go get help, he knew now that there was just no time. There's only two of them, and you have the advantage of surprise, he told himself. Not to mention that they're drunk. Two thoughts of pure genius flitted through his brain at that moment, but he discarded one of them outright. He could have launched the dark mark. Surely that would have caused quite a stir and brought the aurors running. No doubt he would have gotten in big trouble, but it would have been a sure fire way to help the little girl. The only thing that stopped him was the fact that he doubted he could summon it with enough force to send it punching a hole through the ceiling, the second floor, the ceiling above that and into the sky. Instead, Ron focused on his second idea. He could simply summon their wands. It was relatively effective against multiple opponents because it didn't require you to actually hit your target. It just required strong visualization skills. Its only drawback was that it didn't work very well on wands if your opponent was gripping it and ready for dueling. Still, they were both unaware. Ron crept forward, and aimed his wand in their general direction. Cursing himself for not having learned to cast wordlessly, Ron said in a clear voice, "Accio wands!" Ernie, who was sitting in a couch with his back to the stairwell, found his wand sailing into the air and doing a back flip over the couch. To Ron's disappointment, it fell to the ground before reaching him. The other was pulled from Bert's hand but Ernie managed to catch it in midair and whip around, searching for the intruder. Meanwhile, Bert simply stared at his hand uncomprehendingly and blinking as if to check to see if what he was seeing was real. Ernie was already summoning Bert's wand, so Ron chose to attack Bert instead, calling out, "Stupefy!" Bert jerked to life, but not before being hit squarely in the chest with Ron's stunner.

"Oy, who's there!" Ernie called, a slightly nervous edge to his voice. Ron did not respond. He wasn't sure why. He knew he would have to show himself eventually. Ernie was crouched down and using the couch as a shield. Ron supposed that giving away the fact that he was a kid would make Ernie much more confident. Ron racked his brain for something useful to do. Was there any way he could make himself invisible? He wished once again for Harry's invisibility cloak. Resigning himself to his fate, he prepared to cast a shield as he reached the top step. Sure enough, Ernie sent a stunner his way, and Ron merely sent it back at him, following it with another stunner as he predicted where Ernie would move. Ernie, not seeing the second attack until it was too late, only managed to dodge it partly. It struck his wand arm, causing him to drop it as he yelped and fell off the couch. Ron quickly summoned it to him and then strode forward. Ernie had Bert's wand in his other hand and was just enervating his arm when Ron stopped before him and levelled his own. "Stupefy," Ron said, seeming rather bored with the whole affair. Ernie went completely limp, plunging Ron into a complete silence, broken only by the short, muffled sobs of the little girl. Casting his gaze about, Ron saw for the first time what it was that had brought him here. A firepit had been fashioned in the living room and in it was the half-charred remains of a man. Ron's mouth went dry as he looked at the chunks of meat that were sitting on little plates, forks protruding from them. They weren't, Ron thought grimly. They - they couldn't. For good measure, Ron decided to tie them up, just in case. He knew his stunners could last a good hour or so, but he didn't know what kind of defenses people could put up. Again, he was thrown back to that place where he felt inferior. There was so much about magic he didn't know. Could you immunize yourself from the stunning curse? Ron wondered if the stunning curse could be used to stun You-Know-Who. Somehow, he highly doubted it. Well, the stunner was good enough for the death eaters, he thought, so you'll just have to assume that it's good enough for these guys.

"Incarcerus," Ron said, and watched as ropes flew from his wand. to his dismay, they didn't coil around Ernie as Ron had hoped. Granted he had never used the spell before. Grimacing, he at least managed to vanish them and then, just for good measure, hit each of his opponents with another dose of his stunner. finally, he decided to deal with the girl. Truthfully, he wished he didn't have to.

"Hey," he said, trying to inflect his voice so that it was as soft and as disarming as humanly possible. Ron knelt next to her and said quietly. 'It's all going to be all right."

At first, she seemed afraid of him and only tried to curl further into a little ball. Ron kept offering soothing words and telling her that he was there to help. After several minutes, she seemed to calm down, and Ron asked, "Is there anyone else around?"

She merely sniffled.

Deciding he wouldn't get very pertinent information out of her, Ron decided to employ the age old male strategy of switching the subject. To his surprise, it was the first time it ever worked on a girl. "Could you maybe tell me your name?"

The little girl looked up, her eyes red and puffy from crying. She sniffled once more for good measure and then said in a whisper, "Mmphfgh."

"Er, I didn't quite catch that," Ron said uncertainly. "Could you say that again?"

This time, the girl seemed to look directly at him, or perhaps through him. She then said in a clearer but still run-down tone, "Cassie."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Cassie." he smiled his kindest smile. The one he reserved for thanking Hermione after she agreed to let him copy her homework. "I'm Ron."

"Hi," she said timidly.

"Listen, Cassie, as you've no doubt gathered, some terrible stuff has happened here. Do you know what I'm talking about?" Ron fixed her with his most earnest, penetrating gaze. He wasn't sure what he was doing, but he needed to get through to her on some level. he needed her to do some things, like maybe come back to the Burrow with him so that he could put her in touch with people more able to help her.

"Bad men," she said in a whispery voice. "Bad men." Those two words seemed to stir something in Ron's heart. Yes, bad men, he thought, swallowing the lump that was forming in his throat. Very bad men indeed.

"That's right, Cassie. I've stopped them, so you don't have to worry anymore about them."

She nodded, understanding this. "You stopped them."

"Yes, I stopped them," Ron agreed. "I need to go look around to see if anyone else is here. I'm going to do that, and then I'm going to come right back."

She nodded.

"I need you to watch these two. If they move, I need you to tell me. I need you to scream out. Is that okay?"

She nodded.

Ron nodded too. "Okay, I'll be back in a second." He stood, feeling suddenly uneasy about leaving her shivering there for a second. He doubted she would do anything remotely close to screaming if one of them woke up. Fortunately, Ron only had to go down the hall and check a few rooms before he would return and they could get out of here. Despite the large open windows with the soft rays of sunlight streaming in and turning the white walls and polished surfaces iridescent, Ron still couldn't help but feel creeped out by the place. Just knowing what had happened here made the place thick with a dark taint.

The rooms were all surprisingly neat. Even Cassie's. To his sorrow, any remaining family members were dead. That included a mother and an older brother. Worse yet, it was clear that the mother had been assaulted, if the state of her clothes were any indication. Cannibal pedophiles, Ron thought. Of all the bloody things to find in your neighbourhood. And death eater wannabes to boot. Ron returned and gently tried to take Cassie's hand. However, she visibly flinched at the attempt, forcing Ron to take a step back. "Whoa," he said, adopting his 'I'm a nice guy' voice. "Cassie, it's just me. Ron."

She didn't seem to respond, as though she had forgotten about him.

Taking a deep breath, Ron started over. "Hey, Cassie?" he asked softly, kneeling near to her, but not so close that she would get frightened. "Do you remember me?"

"Ron," she said promptly.

"Yeah. Listen, I think it's maybe time we get out of here. I was thinking we could take a walk and go to my family. My mom's probably got dinner on the stove. Would you like to come over and maybe get something to eat?"

"Where's mommy?" the unmistakable, pleading tone in her voice told Ron all he needed to know. She knows her mother's dead. She's in denial.

"I'm sorry, Cass," he said softly, lowering his eyes and fixing them on a point on the floor. "I'm sorry."

Cassie burst out into tears again and said in a wail, "I want her! Where is she?" Cassie then threw her teddy bear across the living room so that it silently struck the wall and fell to the ground. She then buried her head in her lap and began sobbing deep, heavy sobs that racked her entire body.

Ron maneuvered himself so that he was next to her and tried to put a comforting arm over her shoulder. She relented and gave in, leaning into his shoulder and letting her tears soak his shirt. A year ago, he would have ran away in terror and simply laughed it off as a girl thing, probably nicknaming the tearful individual a "hosepipe." Now though, in the throes of his own melancholy, he felt a strange sort of kinship. He knew he would never cry - he understood that it wasn't in him anymore. But he also knew that he could feel just as strongly as those who did, and he was not one to shrug off someone else's pain as callously as he otherwise would have.

After a long time, after the sun had set and the sky had turned to a deep blue, Ron stirred and discovered that Cassie had fallen asleep. He supposed that maybe it was for the best. Sleep, he knew, had a way of clearing one's head, as though when you were asleep, your mind was given a chance to process things. Especially difficult things that needed your full attention. He knew from others that this kind of trauma would stay with Cassie for a long time; he couldn't even begin to imagine how his life would change if he didn't have his family. But you're going to have to face that possibility, his mind told him. One day. All the wards in the world won't save you if Voldemort comes personally.

Ron gently detached himself from the little girl and stood, flexing his legs and arms. He stunned both his captives and then cast the body floatation charm he learned last year. "Mobilicorpus," he said three times, lifting Ernie, Bert and Cassie into the air. Double checking to make sure he had all their wands, he proceeded out the front door and down the street. he had no idea what any of the muggles would think, and he didn't care. He didn't know anything about capturing people and he wasn't prepared to let these clowns escape. Not after what he had seen. There was just no way. He finally understood the nature of the guilt Harry had carried around with him after fourth year. It was the same guilt he felt welling up in him at the thought of Bert and Ernie escaping on his watch.

The Burrow seemed incredibly calm and peaceful from outside. All was silent, with the only exception being the crickets and the rustling wind. Lights were flickering to life inside, casting an ethereal yellow glow that made everything in there seem warm and inviting. Ron made a complicated gesture with his wand and watched as the wards shimmered. He then crossed the threshold with his followers in tow and resolutely went through the front door. The immediate explosion of activity that he had expected did not in fact occur. There was a regular sort of silence with the usual bustling about in the kitchen. They were all eating, he supposed.

"Ron!" his mother was calling. "RON!"

He knew that she must have been calling for some time, judging from the sound of her voice. She had adopted that exasperated quality that he had become accustomed to. "Right, here, mom! Be there in a minute!"

Ron knew for a fact that bringing her mother into this would be a bona fide nightmare. Instead, Ron decided it might be best to get Bill out here. With that in mind, he began calling for his big brother. "Oy, Bill! I need you to come out to the front hall for a second! It's important!"

"And dad too!"

Now Ron simply took to waiting. As he did so, he noticed that Cassie was stirring. He gently lowered her to the ground and held onto her in his arms. She blinked bleary eyed and looked up at Ron. "I-" she began, before looking around. Ron understood that she hat, for the briefest moment, thought it all a terrible dream, and she was only now realizing that it wasn't. She began to shake all over and clutch him like he were a life preserver. So, it was like that when Bill and Arthur walked into the front hall, Ron kneeling holding a terrified, pale-faced little girl with matted brown hair and two stunned floating bodies hovering overhead.

They were about to speak when Ron finally looked up at them, still holding the girl close. he looked into their eyes and wordlessly begged them to understand what was going on. Something seemed to have been communicated, because neither said a word, and simply took their time, absorbing and calculating the situation. Eventually, Bill disappeared and returned with Fleur, who must have been told something, because she came and wordlessly took Ron's place. the girl didn't seem to notice until fleur began speaking softly to the girl and picking her up to transport her to a bed upstairs. Once gone, Ron stood and stared grim faced at his father and his eldest brother. Finally, he said, "Up the street. the corner house with the red roof. Number 653. You'll find her family. It isn't pretty." Ron cocked a thumb at the two floating men. "Stunned. Drunk."

"How bad is it?" Bill asked.

"From what I can tell. They're cannibals, and they're rapists."

Both Arthur's and Bill's expressions darkened. "Wizards?"

Ron nodded.

"If memory serves, the residents of 653 are muggles."

"Right again," Ron agreed.

Just then, Molly came out into the hallway. Unsurprisingly, her arms were laden with dishes, which, upon sight of the two figures floating near the front door, and Ron appearing to be facing off with Arthur and Bill, proceeded to be flung into the air with surprising force, sending food bits splattering across the walls and floors. The dishes crashed about haphazardly on the thinly carpeted floors, some of them cracking from the impact. Her mouth seemed to be in overdrive, even though there wasn't any sounds coming from them. Arthur steered her back into the kitchen while Bill deftly erased any traces of the dishes and their contents. He then turned back to Ron and said, "Care to share?" one eyebrow raised.

Ron shrugged. "What's there to tell? Saw something fishy. Went to investigate and-" Ron spread his hands out to point to the two prone figures. "That's the result."

"I think maybe it's best if you head up to your room for the moment. We're going to need to do some damage control down here. Between mom, dad and the Ministry, it could get ugly."

"Are you going to need me to say something?"

Bill thought about it for a second. "We have the girl, but she's probably in no state to talk. Yeah, it's best to be safe and prepare yourself for a little interrogation. I'm sure dad'll try to get one of the in-crowd to do the meat of it."

"Of course," Ron agreed. "I'll maybe just try conjuring up some food and await the inquisition."

"That'd be best."

Ron wasn't sure why he brought up the conjuring; especially when he was rubbish at it, but now that he said it, he felt a resolve to conjure the food himself and eat it, whether he liked it or not. Brushing past Bill on his way up, Ron headed straight for his room, never once turning back.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to the Harry Potter universe. All rights regarding Harry Potter are in the possession of J.K. Rowling and any natural or legal persons that she has transferred rights to.

Chapter Eight

The Wedding

Ron bolted off his bed the moment he felt the breach of the floo ward. Quickly shoving his wand in his back pocket absently thinking he should find a better means of carrying it, he raced down the rickety, warped steps of his house, made a sharp u-turn as he rounded the landing and continued his dash to the kitchen area. Before he made it inside, however, the door was flung open and out popped Hermione, her expression bright and cheery and instantly filling him with a warm sense of affection. Without missing a beat, he pulled her into his arms and hugged her, lifting her into the air in the process and spinning her around.

She let out a little cry of surprise as she whistled through the air, managing to plant both her hands on his shoulders for support and sneaking a quick kiss that was quickly deepening as he set her back down. Breathlessly, they finally pulled apart and looked at each other.

"Missed you," they both said in unison and then promptly proceeded to blush, Hermione turning her head away as though the sight of Ron were suddenly too intense, as though the wattage of his radiance had suddenly increased ten fold. With her cheek exposed to him, he did the only thing that made sense in his Hermione-addled brain. He kissed her again, and then, deciding that that was not quite enough for him, kissed her once more, only closer to her jaw. Soon, he found himself kissing her along the curve of her neck and feeling her press into him with a warm, content sigh. "Missed you terribly," he whispered into her ear, the breath from his words tickling her skin gently.

"Good God, get a room," Ginny huffed, throwing an ornamental pixie at Ron's head, who absently tried to swat it away as it began buzzing angrily about. "Ger off, you stupid insect!" Ron muttered, continuing to swat futilely at the tiny winged creature whose ire had been provoked. Hermione smiled and then waved her wand, causing the pixie to lose interest and drift back to the railing where it had been perched.

"What did you do to it?" Ron asked.

"A double charm, of course. It's a combination of a cheering charm and a confundus charm. Though I had to modify both to take some of the edge off. Mostly it just calms the recipient and distracts them long enough for you to get away."

Ron made an attempt to process Hermione's words and, when he managed to fail miserably at it, decided to smile beatifically in an attempt to fake comprehension.

Hermione, not being duped in the slightest, only smiled harder and slapped him on his arm. "Come on, let's go upstairs. We deserve a bit of private time before the festivities start."

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," Ron said, taking Hermione's hand and leading her up the stairs, all the while Hermione sending him strange glances. When they got to the top, she stopped and asked, "Ron, when did you learn Shakespeare?"

"Er, well," Ron began, blushing to the roots. "I haven't had much to do this summer, and, well, you know, thought I'd pick up a book or two." The last few words were spoken so quietly that Hermione had to make an educated guess as to what they were. "Books?" she inquired curiously, letting the question hang in the air.

"Er, yeah, books. You know, those ruddy things you're always going on about. Thought I'd give one a try, you know?"

This only seemed to make Hermione study Ron more intensely, as though she were scrutinizing him to make sure he was not a figment of her imagination, or possibly a new breed of scrute. Finally pulling back and returning her attention to him, she said, "Who are you and what have you done with Ron?"

"Hey!" he exclaimed indignantly. "I'll have you know I'm perfectly capable of picking up a book and reading it!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's not an issue of capability, Ron. it's an issue of interest."

Ron nodded, as if conceding defeat. Then, he said, "Yeah, I know. Come on, let's go to my room."

They finished crossing the distance. Once inside, Ron drew his wand and flicked it at the door, casting a silencing charm. He then moved to aim the charms at all the walls. Once done, he started muttering, staring idly at his wand and not really seeming to be pointing it at anything.

"Ron?" Hermione asked tentatively, afraid to break his concentration and whatever it was that he was doing, which appeared to be rather creepy, all things considered. He made a gesture with one hand to silence her. After a minute, he seemed to relax and then said, "There. I think I did it."

"Did what, exactly?"

"I erected a silencing ward."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up, and she gave him that questioning look that said, Are you sure that's what you meant to say?

Ron chose to ignore it and instead went and had a seat at his bed, inviting Hermione to come join him. She acquiesced and there they sat. For the first time, she looked around the room and discovered that it didn't appear to be quite as orange as it had been the last time she had been there, which had only been three days ago, not that it was apparent from the way they embraced downstairs. Having finally taken in the place, she turned to Ron and said, "Is there anything you'd like to tell me?"

"Such as?" Ron responded a bit too quickly. There seemed to be something both grave and mischievous dancing in his blue eyes. "Well, there seems to be a few more books than I last remember there being."

"Ah, I suppose you would fix on that first."

"Well?"

Ron shrugged as though it were no big deal. "I suppose I'd gotten to thinking about..." He trailed off, suddenly unsure of himself. It wasn't that he didn't know how he felt within himself; it was more that he wasn't sure he could properly articulate it into words. he had never been the Ravenclaw sort. Finally, he decided that maybe it would simply be better if he talked about the other day, and she, being her usually intelligent self, would simply infer or extrapolate his own motivations. Yeah, he thought, then she can explain it to me. "Mione, the other day I took a walk up the road." He paused, trying to drum up the best way to approach this. He already knew that telling her was going to get him a long lecture about safety and possibly rule-breaking. Not that he cared that much, since he knew he had a solid argument to refute those claims. it was the same argument he had used against first bill and then his father, when they had come to interrogate him on what exactly he had been doing getting mixed up in that affair. You know, he thought, maybe it's not the best thing to be telling her this. It's not as though she needs the worry. She'll understand if you just tell her you... "I'm tired," he said suddenly, fixing his gaze directly on hers for a moment, as he cut off his own train of thought. Taking a deep breath he went on, "I'm tired and I'm angry. I'm tired, because there's this tension that's always around, you know? It's like, I have no idea what's going on around here. I know there's a million and one wards on this place, but I can't name a single one. I don't know how they work, I don't know how effective they are. Does this mean that You-Know-Who can't come here? What about his death eaters? What of muggles? I don't know. It seems that, the more I think about it, the more I realize that there's a lot I don't know about, and I'm tired of not knowing, Mione. I'm tired of wondering whether a death eater's going to pop up behind me or wondering how many aurors it takes to guard a single person or what the death eaters can and cannot do. I mean, they're all supposed to be trained wizards, right? Like they're all supposed to be so much more advanced than me. I'm only supposed to have one year left to go. How much more advanced can they possibly be? What am I missing?" Ron ran his fingers through his auburn hair, and pulled his gaze away from Hermione to stare off into the distance. He felt he was on a roll, even though he knew he wasn't really making much sense. "Chances are, we're all going to die, or at least some of us. I for one would like to go down fighting, hopefully protecting somebody, instead of being the one protected. I don't want to be clumsy anymore or thoughtless or reckless. I want to walk into a situation and know what the odds are - even if they're not good - even if they're non-existent. I'd like to know when death is imminent and how and why. Not just, 'oh the wards fell and we need to flee'. And then I think, maybe if I knew how to ward a thing or two, I could help, and not just be a reserve piece or a pawn. Bill said to me the other day that I'm part of his family and that it's his responsibility to protect me. Well, the way I see it is that he's part of my family too, and that means that it's also my responsibility to protect him. And what kind of a person would I be, knowing that there's all this danger around and here I am trying to wallow in ignorance so I can get a few more laughs in before we all die? so that I can try to salvage some remnant of my childhood? Let's face it - our childhoods have ended. And I for one am not saddened by that fact. I had a good childhood; I was carefree for most of it and we had a good run of things in Hogwarts when we got there - from Norbert to the DOM. It's time to move on. It's time for me to figure out how the hell we're going to make it through this mess once and for all. You and I both know that Harry's going to be at the center of it when all the chips are down, and we're going to be there too. And if we want to give him a clear shot at You-Know-Who-" Ron took a deep breath and tried again, "a clear shot at V-V-Voldemort, then it's going to fall on you and me to keep his soldiers at bay. We know they travel in packs; we know they like to sneak up on you from behind. That means that we're going to have to be good. No, wait, check that. We're going to have to be more than good - we're going to have to be bloody awesome, because chances are, we'll each have like three or four or even ten death eaters to deal with. I'm not saying we're going to have to take them all down. No, that's bloody ridiculous, but we're going to have to hold them off long enough for Harry to have his chance, and if that means throwing our lives away in the process... well, I for one am prepared to do that. So, with all that, I've decided once and for all that I'm going to do what I've been avoiding the last six years." Ron lifted the nearest book off his night table and tossed it at his girlfriend. "I'm going to read."

Hermione caught the book, still amazed at her boyfriend's monologue. Glancing down at the title of the book in her hand, she did a double-take. On the spine, it read: 1001 SUCCESS STORIES: A DEATH EATER'S GUIDE TO BEING EVIL. At first, the words didn't seem to register, as though they were making their way to her cerebellum through a thick haze. Hermione rolled the words over her tongue, and discovered that, try as she might, she could not fathom taking a book with that title seriously. The first thing that made her incredulous was the simple fact that there had never been 1001 death eaters to speak of. She supposed that multiple stories could actually be apportioned to a single death eater, but even then it seemed a bit much. More probably, she decided the book referred to stories by other evil doers and death eaters were simply mimicking their behaviour. a third option was that the title was merely an exaggeration. After moving through those possibilities, Hermione then considered the likelihood of death eaters and other such evil doer types actually sitting down and sharing their stories for the purposes of compiling into a compendium of anecdotes. All in all, Hermione was not exactly impressed with Ron's reading material. Ergo, her first question was, "Did Fred or George give this to you?"

"Ron sighed. "No, it was Bill. Just look inside, would you?"

Hermione decided, that, after Ron's speech, the least she could do was indulge him. And so, she found herself opening the book carefully to the first page, and then the second and the third. What she found was something she hadn't ever thought possible. By the time she skimmed the first ten pages, she looked up at Ron in wonder. "This is brilliant!" she breathed. "How did anybody get all this information? I've never read such a clear description of the killing curse in my entire life. I mean, I always knew the catalyzing emotion was hatred, but Sir Borthelrock's description of the difference between hatred borne out of revenge for an individual and that borne out of revenge for the world generally and its impact on the nature, strength, effect and quality of the curse is, well... comprehensive, to say the least. It says here you can actually tell from the colour warmth of the green light whether the spell caster has been wronged by the world or by an individual. Amazing. And then there's the Cruciatus. I'd thought that hate was the main ingredient for that one as well, but here it says it's actually anger, and that, unlike the killing curse which requires an antecedent wrong, real or perceived, committed against the caster, the Cruciatus needs no such prerequisite. In fact, the more you've been wronged, the more likely you're acting out of righteous anger, which will cause the spell to seize up. You need true malice to cast the spell. No wonder it didn't work when I tried it." Hermione seemed to mutter that last part to herself, but Ron heard it, and it nearly knocked him off his bed.

"You WHAT!" he squeaked.

"Excuse me?" Hermione asked, looking up from the book.

"You cast the cruciatus?" Ron asked again, his voice attempting to return to normal.

"Only as an academic matter," Hermione said dismissively. "Not on any real target. Though, I suppose if I had actually gotten something to come out of my wand, I would have tried it briefly on an insect. Or maybe a conjured animal. From what I gather, that's not technically illegal, though it's probably frowned upon. Not that anyone would really have to know about it. Again, it's purely an academic matter."

Before Ron could say anything else, they both heard the call of Molly Weasley beckoning them down for a late afternoon snack.

"Coming!" Ron called, Hermione wincing from having been subjected to Ron's bellow. He then turned to her and said, "Come on, we can talk more over food. There's some stuff I've been meaning to ask you anyway."

"About what?" Hermione asked, getting to her feet.

"It's about perimeter charms. Can't find a thing about them, but I know they exist. heard Bill talking about them once."

"Are you referring to perimeter charms fixed to a stationary object, like a ward on a building? Or are you referring to the ones cast on moving objects, like people?"

"The second one," Ron said as they descended the steps to the growing chatter of people. The main floor seemed suddenly full of all types, ranging from photographers to wedding designers, security detail, groomspeople and so on and so on. Ron cast about, surprised at how quickly the place had filled up, though he supposed he should have known better, given that it was the day before the wedding. He had heard Bill and Charlie laughing about how vilas made even bigger deals out of weddings than purebloods.

Just then, Fred and George came bounding out of the throng of people, eager grins on their faces.

"Oh brother of mine!"

"Yes, our little Ronniekins!"

"Heard you've been getting yourself caught up in your own little adventure."

"And admirers no less."

Ron groaned inwardly. How did those two clowns find out about his 653 debacle? Ron decided that after their honeymoon, he would kill Bill for spilling it, for Ron was confident that there was no way his dad would have gone around mentioning such a thing. Worse yet, Hermione was right next to him and seemed to be trying to piece together what it was that Fred and George were saying. Should have told her up front, he thought grimly.

"So, er, how's the joke shop?" Ron asked, trying to divert their attention in what he knew to be a rather lame attempt.

"Now, now," Fred said, wagging a finger in front of Ron's face. "No sense trying to change the subject on us. Tell all, little bro." George threw an arm around Ron's shoulder and began steering him to the kitchen. "Yes, we want the details. The way we figure it, you're-"

"Fred! George!" Molly's voice came issuing from beyond the doorway to the kitchen. The quartet stopped, Fred and George giving each other sideways long glances. "Er, do you s'pose she found the mayhem marshmallows?"

"I'm thinking she might've," George agreed.

"S'pose we'd maybe better beat a hasty retreat. Shop's be needing us and all." And with that, the twins disappeared just as quickly as they had come, their red hair disappearing in the maelstrom of bodies that were trafficking about.

"Hey have you seen Gabrielle?" a witch in flowing red robes asked, coming up to Hermione.

"Er, no, is she around?"

"Yes, we're just doing some preliminary photos of the de la Coeur family." Seeing that she was not going to find her prey near Ron and Hermione, the stranger disappeared. Before another moment could pass, the hallway seemed to be thinning out a bit as people went outside to arrange for the apparent photo shoot.

"Bloody ridiculous," Ron muttered. "Come on, let's eat. And maybe pray this madness will stop by the end of tomorrow."

"Yeah."

The day passed relatively uneventfully. Ron and Hermione talked; people shifted about from one end of the house to the other, busily decorating, expanding, charming and, warding for all kinds of situations. Ron and Hermione had been forced to have their dinner early, with assurances from Molly to Ron that he would be entitled to a midnight snack. There were so many people bustling about that she had to feed on the eve of the wedding that, even despite the multitude of expansion charms that had been used to accommodate the additional guests, there still wasn't enough room. Ron still remembered the blowout when Fleur's parents suggested holding the wedding somewhere a little more - Ron thought the term they had used was modernist, though he wasn't quite sure what that meant. At any rate, Molly would not hear of it, and even went red at the thought of it being a catered event. This was her eldest son's wedding and it was going to be at the Burrow come hell or high water. It didn't hurt that the Burrow had become a fortress, and with the loss of Dumbledore and the congregation of many of Voldemort's enemies at this one event, security was a critical issue. Not that Ron thought an attack was likely. He had, quite frankly, been surprised at the moves that Voldemort had been making since his return. he had always imagined Voldemort to be something akin to a dragon - a larger than life mythic creature that went around terrorizing people in an attempt to satiate an endless bloodlust. It wasn't so much that he believed that on a conscious level; rather the fear with which people referred to him always gave Ron the impression that there was a lot of senseless killing going on. From what Ron could tell, the killing seemed rather sensible. He didn't agree with it of course. Killing was generally a bad thing in his books, though if asked, he probably would have agreed that capital punishment was acceptable. If he probed himself a little, he would have realized that he really knew nothing about capital punishment, or the debates surrounding it, and that would be why no one ever asked him anything related to anything remotely serious. All that was fine by him, as far as he was concerned. or at least it was last month.

That night, Ron and Hermione found themselves tucked away together in the Weasley living room, Hermione pressed up against Ron and nestling her head in the crook of his shoulder and sighing in a contented fashion intermittently. Ron stared into the fireplace, which had a magical fire going, courtesy of his wand. He had made a point of learning one new spell and one surveillance/countersurveillance measure each day. The fire he was now playing with was a testament to that. In addition to being dead useful for creating a cozy atmosphere with his leading lady, it had the added ability to only be subdued through magical means. It was the kind of thing wizards had historically used to torment muggles, because muggles had no means of putting it out. Water was completely ineffective and so the only recourse had been to box off the fire and wait until the magic ran out. The only disadvantage was that it didn't burn through muggle chemicals the way non-magical fires did, which Ron supposed, was actually a good thing because some of those muggle things could be really explosive. Or so he had heard. Wizards didn't really have bombs, or compressed gasses, or highly flammable liquids. they also didn't understand that the ingredient in air that caused combustion was oxygen and that it only composed a minority fraction of the stuff they all breathed. It was a woeful ignorance.

"Hermione?" he asked tentatively.

"Mmm?" she said, snuggling closer and sighing yet again.

Ron instinctively put an arm around her, letting his hand come to rest on her mid-section. He stroked it absently as he began speaking. "Why do you like me?"

The speed at which she bolt upright was downright frightening, Ron decided. Her eyes, which had been closed and unfocused a moment ago, were now keenly searching his face like a predator stalking its prey. "Why do you ask that?"

Ron gently coaxed her back down into a submissive position, once again putting his arm around her and enjoying the comfort of her warm body against his. "Relax. It was nothing. I was just thinking."

"About what?" she asked.

Like you didn't know she was going to probe, he thought, and then collected himself to respond. "You're really smart. And you're mature. You're thoughtful, disciplined, considerate of others." Ron wanted to add that she was beautiful too, but decided that that was getting off track. So, he continued while reigning the impulse to espouse to her the virtues of her physical attributes. "Sometimes I think that we're both rather different. I love Quidditch, and you love books. I'm clueless about the muggle world, and well, it's part of you, isn't it? It's part of you and I know nothing about it." Ron raised his hand in a pacifying gesture, as Hermione seemed ready to object. "let me finish. I'm not saying we're no good for each other or that you're not my type or some other such rubbish. I just think that maybe..." he wasn't sure how to finish that sentence. He knew what it was he wanted, but he wasn't quite sure how to say it without making himself sound like a clod. Shaking himself of that feeling, he barreled onwards. "I think that maybe I want to be better than I am. For so many reasons, and not just because of the war, though the war's part of it. You're a wonderful person, and you're worth fighting for. You're worth trying to become a better person." Ron wasn't sure he had expressed himself fully, but he knew that anything else he could add would just be garbled versions of what he'd already stated. As such, he finished by saying, "That's what I was thinking about."

"Ron," Hermione said, sitting up and leaning close to him. "That may very well be one of the sweetest things you've ever said to me." She leaned in closer and kissed him full on the lips, which he returned happily, both of them snaking their arms around one another to fit more comfortably. When they pulled apart, Hermione began talking, "I don't think I'm nearly the saint you make me out to be. I know I was a bit extreme when we were younger. Even last year, there was so much I wanted to say to you, to tell you how I felt, but I couldn't bring myself to do it because I was afraid. Afraid of getting hurt." Hermione let out a quiet little laugh. "I can't tell you how many times I fantasized about hexing both you and Lavender - Lavender for taking you from me and you for making me feel this way." She stopped and considered her words more carefully, thinking about what Ron had just told her. She was aware that it had been something difficult for him, and that it was deeply personal. She wanted to return the gesture, and in a meaningful way. "Ron," she said carefully. "You probably know that I'm a bit of a feminist. Well, maybe you don't know what that word means, but, well, I'm sure you understand the idea. I think that women should be treated equally and have equal rights. I think all creatures should have that, and that they should be taught from early in their lives to enjoy certain basic rights and have freedom from oppression and the kind of teachings that tell them not to exercise those rights." Hermione bit her lip, concentrating on how she wanted to phrase the next part. Then, she continued, "If someone told me last year that I couldn't handle something, then I set out to prove them wrong no matter what. It's one of the reasons I came to love and need knowledge. I never wanted to be pushed down. I never wanted to be sheltered or regarded as someone who needed protection, because I wasn't independent enough or strong enough to protect myself. But since I've been with you, I've started feeling like I would be proud to be protected by you. When you stand up for me against Malfoy and those others, it gives me a warm feeling inside. I've never felt that way about anyone before."

After Hermione's speech, silence reigned for a long time between them, and she chose to settle back down against him. After a time, when Hermione had decided that Ron wasn't going to speak, he surprised her by saying only two words. "Thank you."

With that, Ron pulled his feet up onto the couch and stretched them alongside Hermione's so that they lay next to one another, Hermione spooned against him and packed tightly on the couch. Hermione took her wand and expanded the couch slightly so as to give them more room. Ron meanwhile, puffed up their lone pillow and proceeded to hold her until they fell asleep.

The wedding was a boisterous, two day affair. There was an enormous cake, a bottomless bar with fifteen different kinds of firewhisky, not to mention liqueurs and wines of all different sizes. Ron was introduced to a 1986 bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon from the south of France, courtesy of the de la Coeurs. The ceremony itself took place on a recently fashioned veranda that had been ornately decorated, expanded to accommodate a hundred or so people and overlooked an escarpment that led down into a chasm of torrential rivers that were both awe-inspiring and fierce. the charms work that had been done on the Burrow's backyard to make the image of the cliff-side was among some of the most enviable in the world.

As part of their wedding vows, they both made a solemn affirmation on their magic that they would be there for one another until the end of their lives. Bill had spoken his in French as a sign of respect to the de la Coeurs, and Fleur had conversely done hers in English. Bill had also executed a traditional goblin rune ritual, binding their magics together and creating a marriage bond older than that of the Ministry itself.

all in all, it was a good two days. That is, until Ron and Hermione spotted Kingsley Shacklebolt appearing out of the floo connection and talking quietly to Arthur Weasley in one corner. This seemed like a particularly bad omen, because, for one thing, Harry was late, and for a second, he was supposed to be showing up with Shacklebolt himself. The fact that the powerful auror was appearing alone seemed to suggest only one thing to the intrepid adventurers. Of course, that was only the beginning. When attempting to question Ron's mother, about Harry's whereabouts, they discovered that Molly was under such stress regarding the preparations of the appetizers, that she responded simply by saying, "Go ask your father."

This, however, proved to be extremely difficult, for, shortly after having seen the conversation between Shacklebolt and Arthur, Ron and Hermione discovered that both Mr. Weasley and the auror were conspicuously absent.

"There's really not much we can do about it," Hermione said in a defeated tone.

"Yeah," Ron agreed half-heartedly. "It's not like we could fly an enchanted car to Little Whinging and hunt down the blighter for getting himself in trouble again."

"If only it were that easy."

They stood in companionable silence for a long time before Ron finally said. "Harry's capable of taking care of himself, I reckon. Besides, he's supposed to have that blood ward thingy operating, and if anyone can find him, it'll be dad and Mr. Shacklebolt. There's really nothing we can do."

"Yeah," Hermione agreed. "And besides, we should be here for Bill. It is his wedding, after all, and it's probably all around rather important to him. He wants his entire family around, I'm sure."

"Of course, of course," Ron said, nodding, almost as if to convince himself. "I mean, he'd miss us if we weren't there. Why, he'd probably go apoplectic if he scanned the crowds of adoring onlookers and saw only six bundles of red hair."

"Well, it really would be more than six, wouldn't it? I mean there's your cousin Iashi and her half-sister with the fake freckles."

"Ah, yes. Runswel. I'd almost forgotten about her. Brunette, that one."

Yeah, yeah. Bushy hair, if I recall."

"Very bushy," Ron agreed. "The bushiest, in fact."

Ron turned his eyes from the window overlooking the fake escarpment and cast his eyes downward at the freshly polished, scrubbed and buffed imitation hardwood floors his great aunt Virginia had gotten at a discount lumber yard. At first, his mind wandered to the fact that they were clearly very cheap, and only the presence of a sophisticated illusion charm was fooling any of the guests. Their whole house, in fact, had become a parody of what they all were. He supposed it couldn't be helped, since Bill and fleur came from opposite sides of the social world. Upper class aristocratic French vilas on the one hand and financially down-trodden, pureblood nuclear family Brits on the other. The wedding was doomed to be a sham from the start. It never had a chance, really. Just then, Ron spotted something on the floor - something which seemed distinctly out of character amidst the bronze sheen of the floor polish, and, curious about it, he knelt and studied the tiny brown hair that had settled cross-wise on the grain of the wood.

"Ron?" Hermione asked.

"Hmm?" Ron began, not really paying attention to her. The sight of the tiny hair was nothing special, he supposed, but it seemed to call to him from some time-darkened pit. Some memory from long ago was crying to be let out, the flavour of it tempting the tip of his tongue. "Nothing," he said distractedly, getting to his feet. "Just thought I saw something." He then turned to Hermione, who was biting her lip in a very Hermione-esque way. It meant, I want to say something but I'm not sure I should for fear you'll explode in a huff. Ron idly was amused by the fact that he knew her so well. it made him feel good inside, and so, with such warmth in his heart, he decided to be charitable and speak her mind for her. "What say you and I take a little trip to Little Whinging?"

"Yeah."

And with that, they both walked straight out the front doors and down the street, past the apparation point where they immediately apparated to the Leaky Cauldron. From there, they took a taxi and drove the hour all the way to Little Whinging, settling themselves into a comfortable silence, knowing that they were going to be in big trouble for it and not caring. A piece of them had gone missing and, as far as they were concerned, if it weren't up to them to reclaim that trinity, then it was really up to no one.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Harry Potter.

Author's Note:

Hi all,

I'm not sure who's all out there, possibly only a few of you if the number of reviews is any indication. Still, I thought I would at least say hello, since you've made it this far. Also, I'd like to say a couple of things:

I know, I know, it seems like Harry's gone away, and he's kind of the life of the party, isn't he? I'm sorry to disappoint some of you. He's not coming back for awhile. Ron and Hermione have been conspicuously absent, and I feel it's time for them to be conspicuously present, at least for a little bit.

Also, I thought I would occupy some screen time to say hello and thank you to Shivakashi, for being a consummate reviewer. thanks 

Chapter Nine

The Approach of War

From that point on, Ron and Hermione's summer took a turn for the worse.

September 1st.

Ron was quicker than Hermione and came up from behind, thumbing the hidden latch with one hand and thrusting her back into the wall that opened, revealing a secret compartment through which she fell. Ron kept right up against her, his hand ruthlessly clenching her throat, stifling a scream, and, as she recognized him, the light waning as the door swung gently shut, he released his hand and hugged her between the narrow support bars. They slid down until they were in a crouched position; their hands pressed to each other's torso.

"Oh, God, Ron. I love you," Hermione said breathlessly in the dark.

Ron tried to look past her, to catch the site of boots silently maneuvering across the floor boards, but he couldn't. His eyes kept falling on her. Focus, he thought. "Shh. Not now." His voice was a bare whisper, but the colonel would have heard him, despite the rumbling engine of the train barreling full throttle through the rock desert.

A squeal rose up from the floor, deafening them, overpowering all else for a minute before subsiding. So that's that, Ron thought. We've switched tracks. We're going East. He registered the fear on Hermione's face, her tension mounting, tears squeezing out from her shut eyes that meandered along all the beautiful curves of her skin. I love you too, he thought. Focus.

The whir of the magical engine of the train formerly known as the Hogwarts Express pierced the ground in a series of vibrations as the train accelerated. Despite the rise in volume, Ron's ears still picked up the distinctive click of the Colonel's boots, her gait slow and relaxed as though she didn't have a care in the world. Ron supposed that, in fact, she didn't. Or at least, she didn't have a care regarding any of the two remaining occupants of the train. She had proven on more than one occasion over the last six weeks that she was more than a match for Ron and Hermione. Funny, Ron thought as they tried to maintain absolute silence. September first and I'm on the Hogwarts Express. Must be fate. His ear pressed closed to Hermione's lips, Ron managed to make out a quiet sigh as they watched the boots that were visible through the slit beneath the compartment door continue past without hesitation. He could feel the sweat pouring off her in rivers, soaking the backside of her shirt and turning his fingers slick with the wet substance as he gripped her tightly, vaguely aware that, given the peril they were in, it may very well be the last time he ever had the luxury of feeling her body pressed against his. He doubted they would reach their destination before she found them. After all, she pretty much had nothing to do, and if she attempted a legilimantic perimeter scan - well - it would only be a matter of whether her skills at legilimancy trumped their skills at occlumancy. It was only sheer luck that a magical perimeter scan was disrupted by the heavy presence of magic in the train. If it had been a muggle one, they would have already been summarily executed. The colonel did not play around. She did not torture, she did not toy with people. That was Bellatrix's prime weakness, and they had managed to exploit it two weeks ago when the Burrow's wards had fallen. Death eaters had effectively shredded them like tin foil, scattering the Weasleys to the four winds as they fought and fled through the emergency floo line. Not that the whole mess had started there. Oh no, it had all started with the wedding, though none of them had known it at the time. No, it had only been a few days later before things had gotten kickstarted.

Ron could still remember Cassie's shrieks as she had jumped onto a chair, nervously scanning the floor. Ron had been home with Hermione and the pair were slowly coaxing the young girl into trying pumpkin juice. She had been more than doubtful at the time, making a face at the name and not being terribly impressed by the two teenage magicians when they'd tried explaining how it had tasted.

"Sweet," Hermione had said.

"Salty," Ron piped in.

Cassie simply sat there looking skeptical. "Uh-huh."

It had been Hermione who first understood what it was that Cassie had been scanning the floor for. She had seen enough muggle television shows to recognize the tell-tale fear of mice. Except that Hermione was clearly aware that mice did not exist at the Burrow, and, being the incredibly clever girl that she was, had quickly assembled two seemingly disparate events. Ron's preoccupation with a small hair on the ground the day of the wedding suddenly took on new meaning as Hermione situated it in the context of Cassie's wails of, "Kill it! Kill it!"

Ron simply looked bewildered. "Huh?"

Hermione wanted desperately to tell Ron her suspicion that scabbers had returned, but couldn't quite bring herself to. Instead, she tried to will Ron to understand. If the rat overheard her, he would have simply disappeared into one of the many crevices and that, as far as she was concerned, was unacceptable. The coward would probably know where Harry was.

"Drawing her wand, Hermione cast the area effects summoning charm. Spreading it out over the breadth of the kitchen was both draining and only created a minute summon, but, she knew that the rat would have little purchase to struggle against the spell. Surely enough, a rat began floating toward them. "Ron," she said, motioning to the squirming creature. "Stun it!"

But Ron remained paralyzed. Gobsmacked was probably a more apt description. In a flash, Wormtail transformed, his wand spilling out from around his silver fingertips and pointing directly at Ron.

"Obliviate," he said. Coming to life, "Ron tried to throw himself out of the way, but didn't quite manage it. Hermione, being quicker on the uptake, had drawn her wand and cast the protection shield. The memory charm fizzled against it. Hermione was distantly aware that Cassie had frozen in her place, looking wide eyed and terrified at the scene before her. Hermione could only pray that she would not get hit in the crossfire, though that seemed unlikely since she was a pretty large target, standing on a chair in the middle of the room.

Wormtail swiftly sent a stunner followed by a full body bind at Hermione, who he apparently decided was the greater threat. Hermione, not believing for a second that her shield could hold off two direct hits from an above average wizard, deftly levitated a chair into the path of the oncoming spells. Both were absorbed by the pine wood, scarring it magically in two places in shapes that looked like large, blotchy ink stains. Flicking her wrist yet again, Hermione sent two knives hurtling toward Wormtail at high velocity. He pirouetted expertly and sent another two stunners. Hermione was surprised to say the least. What the hell happened to that sniveling little coward from third year? Even leaving aside the fact that Wormtail seemed more agile and more collected. Even ignoring the fact that he had adopted a competent dueling posture, or that he was able to double fire curses or that each curse had a rich glow to the energy, indicating strong, focused spellwork. Even leaving all that aside, Hermione's mind was still trying to process one fact. Pirouetted? she thought wonderingly as she crashed clumsily to the floor to avoid getting hit by the incapacitating spells.

Ron seemed to have recovered from his ill-timed daze, because Hermione could hear a rapid exchange of spellfire that made her rather proud. Even without looking, she knew that he was holding his own against the death eater. She hadn't quite been able to believe that he had disarmed two criminals and saved the life of the young girl, which, even at the time, she had felt duly ashamed for. She had, over the years, developed a bit of intellectual snobbishness when it came to just about any subject. It had often reared its ugly head in the presence of Ron; mostly because she wanted to prove that she was good enough to be with a pureblood and that, maybe, just maybe, she was good enough for Ron.

When Hermione got to her feet, she saw that both duellers were getting desperate. Wormtail had resorted to cutting hexes and confundus charms, clearly realizing that the direct attack was not going to down his opponent. Ron absorbed the hex in a shield, which he seemed to erect almost lazily, and discharged a strong stunner that Wormtail managed to duck out of the way of, only to whip around and send another hex, this one unknown to Ron. Hermione, on the other hand, recognized the words immediately, as she had been obsessed for a time trying to figure out what curse had caused her so many nightmares after the DOM. The Mudblood curse, whose effect was to turn the victim's blood to mud, causing a swift, excruciatingly painful death. She was surprised to see that Wormtail had pulled off the difficult curse, as its minimum threshold for execution was higher than that of the cruciatus, but, more importantly, she was horrified that Ron had erected a shield instead of dodging. The curse was notorious for punching clean through shields, and, because of the nature of the curse, even a minor strike meant unconsciousness, and if not subject to treatment, would inevitably cause death. After all, even having five percent of your blood converted to mud would be lethal. Hermione wanted to scream for Ron to throw himself out of the way at all costs, but the logical part of her mind asserted itself forcefully and held her back. It would do no good to break his concentration, for he would no longer have time to dodge. She simply had to dispatch Wormtail as swiftly as possible and seek help, though even she had trouble tearing her eyes away from that eerie purple light that she herself had been victim to so long ago. The spell struck Ron's shield, which shimmered violently, the energy of the spell rippling across the surface of the blue light of Ron's only defense like spilt mercury.

And then, to Hermione's shock, and to Wormtail's also, the shield continued to hold, the only sign of the curse reflected in Ron's expression of concentration. He didn't even seem to notice that he had done something that was downright incredible. Wormtail's gaze remained fixed on Ron, as if seeing him for the first time. That's right, you son of a bitch, Hermione thought scathingly. You should have thought long and hard before taking on Ronald Weasley. And with that, Hermione hit him with the disarming charm, whereupon he was thrown off balance, his wand barely being torn from his silver hand and landing midway between the two. Hermione swiftly followed with the incarceration hex, which cause ropes to fly from her wand with the intent to wrap themselves around Wormtail and truss him up like a hog. However, Wormtail demonstrated uncanny speed yet again by thrusting himself to one side, simultaneously regaining his balance and aiming his silver hand at the ropes, which seemed to cause them to fall limply to the floor. It must have magical defensive properties, she thought irritably. It hardly seemed fair to her.

Ron sent a stunner at Wormtail, but, yet again, he brought his hand to bear and it simply deflected the curse to one side. Wormtail smiled cruelly and said, "You see, my master has rewarded me greatly for my services. Can you claim any such thing from your precious Potter?"

"You'll never understand," Ron said, shaking his hand pityingly. "We don't need or want anything. We do it because we love him. The same way James and Sirius and Remus would have done anything for you, because they'd loved you. Can you say Voldemort would do that for you, Peter?"

Hermione wasn't entirely clear what it was about Ron's comment that infuriated Wormtail so deeply, but whatever it was, she knew it wasn't good, if his expression was anything to go by. She supposed it might have been the fact that he had brought up their names or that he had presumed to understand their relationship. Hermione wondered if there was something deeper that none of them knew about; something about Peter that made him go to the Dark Lord that was apart from feelings of fear or cowardice. Had Sirius done something that made peter feel betrayed? Hermione had always wondered if Sirius's insensitivity might have played a part in more than just animosity between him and Snape. Surely there had been others who had been hurt by his antics and his callousness.

In a flash, Wormtail shot towards Ron, Hermione simultaneously sending out a cutting hex in the hopes of severing Wormtail's silver hand. Wormtail wrapped his hand around Ron's throat before Ron even had a chance to blink, while, at the same time, the cutting hex went wide and struck Wormtail in the bicep, causing a gush of blood to flow outward. Instinctively, Wormtail relaxed his grip, Hermione internally smug at the fact that the hex had caught Wormtail on the bicep. The harder Wormtail squeezed, the more blood would get pumped through his arm and thus flow out of the wound. However, Hermione's feeling of superiority died instantly as both Ron and Wormtail disappeared before her very eyes. It took several moments for her to process the fact that they were not there. She even looked around in the hopes of seeing them in some other part of the kitchen, the logical part of her mind having been sent to the backseat. Panic was slowly creeping over her. "Ron?" she asked aloud, her voice sounding unnatural in the new silence.

"Err," Cassie began, holding herself in her arms. "Hermione?"

Hermione snapped her attention back to Cassie, and then, realizing she needed to do some serious damage control, took Cassie and led her upstairs to Ron's bedroom. "What's going on?" Cassie asked.

"Shh," Hermione said, gently pushing Cassie into the bed. "I know you must have several questions for me, and I'll answer them for you in time. Or at least someone will. But right now I have to go and take care of some things. Please, just try to get some rest and we'll talk later, okay?" Hermione, meanwhile, hit Cassie with a calming charm and then a sleeping charm. Cassie's eyelids drooped shut and within a minute was fast asleep.

Hermione walked out of the room and cast a simple protection ward. Any of the Weasleys apart from Ginny would have recognized it and disarmed it easily. She then went downstairs and surveyed the kitchen. It was surprisingly undamaged, and Hermione guessed that there were magical protections that protected much of it from spell damage. Taking a deep breath and letting her logical mind reassert itself, Hermione began to construct a working theory of the past events and possible plans of actions. She supposed that Wormtail's silver hand had been used as a portkey, since sidelong apparation required a wand. The only question that remained was whether he had cast it himself or if it had been the work of someone else. If it were Wormtail, then presumably he had used his wand. She doubted anyone could create a portkey wandlessly. It was hard enough to execute a first year spell let alone something as arithmantically complex as a portkey. Her gaze fell on the thin stick of wood that rested at the foot of the table. His wand. Hermione knelt and tentatively picked it up, feeling the strange tingle of magic that she tended to associate with wands. She was surprised that she felt anything at all, since wands were so personal. Thinking about it, she realized she had never touched another person's wand in the six years of her magical education. It seemed a bit like sacrilege, somehow.

"Priori incantanum," she muttered, hoping to see something useful. All that happened, however, was the sight of the last spell that Wormtail had cast on Ron - the Mudblood curse. She had never studied up on the properties of wands and all their related uses. She knew the Ministry had ways of tracking wands and magic generally, and she knew many of them, though the specific details were hard to come by. Trade secrets, she supposed. Looking around, she also spied the blood that was congealing on the floor. Much of it had turned brown from oxidation. Hermione quickly cast a preservation charm and began extracting the liquid from the floor, careful to excise the uncontaminated blood from the rest of it. She summoned a vial from her bedroom and bottled whatever was salvageable. Well, now what am I going to do? she wondered, glancing over at the Weasley clock, which indicated that some of them were on their way home. You have about fifteen minutes before you have to break the news that Ron's been taken.

Hermione reflected on why it was that she hadn't thrown floo powder into the fireplace and simply called one of the order members. Surely somebody was at headquarters. This was their area of expertise after all, wasn't it? But from what she had seen over the last year, her heightened observational skills and keen intellect allowing her to glean far more than any others, they really weren't experts at all. Many of them fumbled along aimlessly, their only claim to cohesion being Dumbledore. With him gone, she doubted that the Order was doing much more than picking up the shattered pieces of Voldemort's terror. If Arthur's conspicuous presence at home was any indication, the Order had all but expired with Albus. This war falls on our shoulders now, she realized. Maybe it always has.

Determined not to let Ron down, Hermione carried her two supplies with her to her bedroom and began casting spells left right and center. When she was done, she had herself a passable laboratory for potion making. She then drew out a dusty old book that she had first encountered in second year - Most Potente Potions. Flipping to page three hundred sixty-eight, she settled the book down and began to work, slicing, dicing and stirring. Eventually, she had a frothy, milk-like substance that looked like a perfect addition to a classic cup of cappuccino. Not that she would have added it to coffee of any kind. The addition would have made the potion volatile to say the least. Considering that for a moment, Hermione bottled a small portion of the liquid and then summoned a large thermos, still quarter-full of the caffeinated substance. She quickly cast the drying charm, leaving caffeine crystals crusted to the bottom of the container, at which point she ladled a liberal helping of the whitish goo. Immediately it began to sizzle and emit a foul smell. Hermione quickly screwed the cap back on and cast stasis charms to keep it safe for later use. She had no doubt that she would be shortly walking into a hornet's nest, and, even if it killed her, she intended to take down as many death eater bastards as she could get her hands on. She was starting to realize that Ron and Harry were her entire social universe. That revelation wasn't a revelation so much - she had always known that. What struck her in that moment as she contemplated suicide was that she was angry they had been taken. She loved them both equally. Harry's disappearance had carved a hole in her, and while it was difficult, she still had Ron. Without him, she felt suddenly alone and bereft and lost at sea. She would go insane without them, all the while knowing that they were out there being tortured or killed. No, she wasn't going to let that happen, and she certainly would have no regrets sharing their fate. Such was the nature of love.

Hermione used the Memory potion in conjunction with a handful of spells and Wormtail's blood as well as the wand core of Wormtail's wand to generate a potion that would, in theory, relocate her to the last place Wormtail had used his wand to create a portkey. she only hoped it would send her to the right place.

She considered how she would approach the ensuing battle and decided that the makeshift bomb should be set off immediately. She took five minutes to make some simple enchantments on the thermos before drinking the potion that contained Wormtail's blood and wand core. She then aimed her wand at herself and said, "Priori incantanum ex portis." Praying her impromptu modifications were correct and that she didn't end up blowing herself to bits, which was a likely side effect of blood alchemy, Hermione crossed her fingers and waited for the tell-tale hook on her navel. To her surprise, she felt a pulling sensation somewhere behind her, as though the hook were jerking her backwards. In a flash of colours, Hermione left the Burrow.

"What do we do now?" Hermione asked as quietly as she could.

Ron shook his head. He really didn't know. Eventually the Colonel would finish making her rounds in the other train cars and return to pass by their little hidey hole. Ron felt a sudden urge to kiss Hermione, to breathe little puffs of warm air on her neck, and feel her shudder involuntarily from his ministrations. He wanted the last month or so to be a dream; he wanted to be obliviated and pretend that none of it ever happened. He never wanted to see another Dementor again as long as he lived. But those were all foolish dreams.

"Come on," he said finally. We'd better make a break for it."

Hermione turned around as far as she could to look at Ron's pained expression. "I'm scared," she whispered.

"Me too," he said. And, with that, they both quietly rose to their feet and climbed out of the small storage room. They both cast glances to either side and then, seeing nothing began moving in the direction away from the Colonel.

"How long do you suppose it'll take for her to sense us?" Ron asked.

"I don't really know the extent of her powers. If the battle on the plains of Abraham were any indication, then she should be able to catch us from about a quarter the length of the train."

"Let's hurry then."

Ron and Hermione quietly jogged to the back of the Hogwarts Express, Hoping against hope that they would find a way to exit the last car and conjure a way to escape the train. They doubted that the Colonel, even if discovering that they'd jumped and survived, would bother coming after them. From what they understood, the train was going straight for the Dark Lord's fortress, wherever that was, and the Colonel was expected to be there on time.

All the compartment doors were closed with the shutters drawn, giving the intrepid pair the eerie sensation that they were not alone. Ron voiced the question that was on both their minds as they made their way to the back of the car. "What do you suppose He needs the train for?"

"I can only assume that He's transporting something."

"yeah," Ron agreed quietly. "Makes you wonder what, doesn't it?"

Hermione stopped and gave Ron a scrutinizing look. "Do you think we should investigate?"

Ron stared off at one of the compartment doors, considering the question carefully. Who knew what they would find if they tried opening one of the doors? They could all be jinxed, though Ron was sure Hermione could at least detect any enchantments or wards on the area. He supposed that, whatever it was, it had to be mighty important to bring to His stronghold and to commandeer the Hogwarts Express, which had some of the most heavily fortified magical defenses in Britain. Not to mention placing it under the watchful gaze of the Colonel. With Voldemort's access to Gringotts cut off, Ron supposed he may have been transporting Galleons and precious stones. Possibly dark arts artifacts. "It could provide invaluable insight into what He is doing. Seems we should at least try."

Hermione nodded reluctantly. "All right, but let's just take a quick peek and then move on."

"Yeah, of course." Ron already moved to the nearest compartment door and ran the tip of his wand just over the edges of the door. Hermione meanwhile cast quick, successive detection and perimeter charms to see if she could identify any hostile agents on the door or beyond. They had learned the hard way that not all protections came in the form of spells. Voldemort had used parasites buried in the pores of wood to bombard intruders who alerted them. On this occasion, however, there didn't seem to be any kind of protections warding off the contents. "Suppose they didn't expect anyone to make it this far."

"I hope so," Hermione said. they tentatively opened the door, both standing to either side to keep out of the way of any projectile objects. Once the coast seemed clear, Ron took a tentative step over the threshold. The first thing that struck him about the small room was that it was unusually dark. He at first wondered if it were nighttime but quickly discounted that idea, because he would have at least scene some sort of reflection on the glass from the hallway lights, or possibly stars or moonlight. Ron conjured a blue bell flame and tossed it into the room, using the light to scan for its contents. Hermione remained outside, keeping her eye on any nearby movements and maintaining a sensory perimeter charm, just in case the Colonel were invisible.

Ron moved further into the interior, spying only large crates and no sign of what their contents may have been. Ron moved right up to the nearest one, which he saw was rectangular and rather long and large and made of simple two by four planks tightly packed together. There were latches on one side like a treasure chest, and, still curious about its contents, cast several basic detection charms before whispering, "Allohamora." The latch clicked open and Ron sighed with relief. Now let's find out what you got in here, you bugger. Ron pocketed his wand and used his hands to shove the lid of the crate off. The first thing that struck him in the deep gloom was the smell of something old, like dust and the faint aroma of mildew. Ron peered close, making a quick assessment from what he could see. There weren't any flashes of reflected light, making him discount the gold and jewels theory. It could be potions ingredients he supposed, though he thought that they usually required better storage, such as ventilation charms and temperature control charms. Losing patience and not wanting to reach in and feel around, Ron drew his wand and lit it with an intense light. He shone it directly into the crate, the yellow light bathing the head of a pale-faced human, who lay peacefully dormant. Ron's breath hitched at the sight of the human body that lay sleeping in the crate. What the hell is this? Ron thought wonderingly. He's transporting people? It wasn't until the creature blinked, its sickly, yellow eyes peering up at Ron with malicious joy that Ron realized he was looking into the face of a vampire. Startled and horrified he stumbled backwards, realizing with dawning horror that the creature was rising out of what Ron now realized was a makeshift coffin. He let out a strangled whimper and scurried to the far end of the compartment until his back was pressed firmly against the cold wood of another crate. The vampire was issuing a muling sound and licking its fangs at, what Ron realized was the prospect of drinking his blood.

Ron raised his wand and croaked, "Petrificus-" But he could not finish that sentence, for the vampire had thrown itself at Ron with lightning speed, sending his wand clattering into the dark and pressing down heavily on his body, the smell of its decayed breath making Ron's insides squirm.

"Tasty, tender little virgin," the vampire moaned, and Ron was suddenly aware of the creature's erect penis pressing into his leg. Fuck me, Ron thought bewildered. The vampire maneuvered itself so that it straddled Ron more comfortably and then began slicing apart Ron's shirt with one long, extruded claw. Ron's feeble attempts to push the vampire died swiftly as he locked gazes with the creature. Suddenly, his will seemed to leave him and he went slack as if submitting. The creature turned up Ron's head to expose the soft, flushed skin of his neck, which the vampire bent in close to pierce. Ron only managed a quiet moan in protest before he began to feel dizzy. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he was going to die. As the vampire's teeth touched his skin, he felt a warm trickling sensation pulse down his face and throat and he knew that his vein had been punctured, and so Ron simply waited to expire, dimly thankful that it wasn't painful. It seemed surprising to him that he would die like this, in some random chance occurrence in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express. Especially after he'd been through so much over the last several weeks. He had come to expect over that time that he would die fighting in some pitched battle, hopefully against a worthy adversary like Bellatrix, and that his death would at least mean the escape of someone he cared about, like Hermione. That would have been a Gryffindor death; not this accidentally wandering into a vampire's nest, the only thing killing him being his own stupid curiosity. It sounded like a Ravenclaw thing to do, only he supposed they would have figured out the vampire part much more quickly.

Hermione had expected the portkey spell to drop her in the middle of a windowless stone lair - possibly Lord Voldemort's throne room. In her mind's eye, she envisioned Ron standing about, possibly with Wormtail's hand still clutching his throat, his bicep still oozing blood as it slowly clotted over, a handful of Death Eaters standing mindlessly about as if waiting for her to appear. Instead, however, she found herself dropped unceremoniously in a junkyard; some sort of autowreck car disposal area, she decided as she picked herself up and brushed debris and roaming ants off her clothes and skin. The smell of dissolved metal was strong in the air, which wasn't a surprise since much of the metal lying about looked rusted and flaked away. A breeze blew a greased over yellow McDonald's cheeseburger wrapper at her feet. She kicked at it irritably, realizing in the dead calm that this was probably a midway point like a hub. Of course Death Eaters wouldn't portkey directly to their hideout. it would be too easy to trace the portkey, just like she had done. that meant there were probably secret portkeys laying about, or maybe apparation windows that you had to wait for. either way, Ron was not here and she was. Thought you were so smart, didn't you? a snide voice inside her head mocked. Now look at you, Geeky Granger. Stuck in Craptown with nothing but your brains, waiting mindlessly for the next Death Eater to wander in.

Hermione shook the nasty voice from her mind and tried to scan about for a portkey or any other useful items. It occurred to her as she picked up her first discarded piece of junk, an empty coca-cola can, that there may be diversionary portkeys that would transport someone to a hostile environment, like the middle of the ocean, or to a detention cell. That thought made her shudder, and she realized that she couldn't just go around groping for any old portkey that might be lying around. Sure enough, after casting several revealing spells, she found multiple portkeys buried in the rubble.

The sound of something deep and rumbling broke Hermione from her thoughts. She spied about for the source of the noise, using her hearing to identify its location. It was a constant thrumming like an engine, only it had irregular bits that could only come from something living. Sure enough a dog with brown, matted hair revealed itself from around a particularly large pile of junk. Except that, to Hermione's dismay, it wasn't something that could be classified as a dog exactly. Or at least not one she had ever seen before, and she happened to be quite the dog expert, having had completed a lengthy project on the species when she had been six. Her parents had asked her if she wanted a puppy, so naturally, she had researched and compiled every known fact in the Western world on the subject of dogs, after which she had decided they slobber too much for her tastes. This canine-like creature was certainly a quadruped, like dogs, and it had a snout like that of a dog - large and rich with olfactory receptors. The thing about it was that it's back seemed to dip a little, though it wasn't so much that its back was broken as it was that it simply had overly muscular shoulders. Its face had innumerable lines marking it, some looking like deep gashes and others were more like protrusions of extra flesh. it's eyes were pure black and seemed unfocused and unblinking. And when it snarled, it showed a mouth full of razor sharp teeth. Only they didn't appear to be white like tell-tale bones, or yellow even from decay. No, these teeth she had seen once before. It had been on a news program about police dogs where, because the dogs - bloodhounds, she remembered - had to use their teeth so often to retrieve hard objects like murder weapons and things, the police had decided to cap all the dogs' teeth with titanium to make their biting abilities that much better. This dog had that same disturbing gleam of metal reflecting off its teeth that pictures of those cyberdogs had had. "Er, hi?" Hermione asked uncertainly. The dog crouched low, indicative of its intention to leap at her. Hermione, with years of honed practice, drew her wand and picked it out of mid-leap with the full body bind. She was about to go to it and examine the creature more thoroughly when she heard another growl to her left. Whipping about, Hermione caught sight of the dirty, matted furball flying right towards her, metal fangs glistening in the afternoon light. she shrieked and raised her wand as if to spear it, which, to her momentary surprise, worked better than she expected it to. The wand tip, upon connecting with the dog's face, sparked bolts of stinging electricity that caused it to flail its head at the last moment before impacting with Hermione's torso. She grunted as her wand was ripped from her grip and she went careening against the gravel and dirt floor. The dog, snapped ferociously at her face with its jaws, but she managed to twist her hips and thrust it off, causing it to roll over to one side. She, on the other hand, scrambled aimlessly to the other, knowing despairingly that she was not going to find her wand in time. As predicted, the dog growled yet again and Hermione found herself backing into a corner, her eyes wide and fearful and watching the dog advance cautiously. After sniffing around her and determining that she didn't possess any more threatening weapons, it lunged. Hermione threw her hands in front of her face to protect herself, and also began bicycle kicking her legs wildly in the hopes of striking its face. She felt her heel give the creature a glancing blow against its side, but it clearly was not enough as the creature sank its teeth into the inside of her thigh. She let out a hoarse scream of agony as her arms flailed about, one hand trying feebly to push the head of the dog away while the other searched randomly the body of metals behind her for a suitable weapon. The dog tore free a hunk of her flesh, causing Hermione to convulse and jerk erratically under its weight. Her knee came up and batted the dog away briefly, though she knew in the back of her mind that it was not going to be enough. The wound was spilling blood rapidly and she would not have the strength to fend off an attack. The dog seemed to content to chew on the flesh it had already gleaned before mauling her any further. Hermione's hand fell on what felt like a thick metal rod that was protruding out of the side of the heap. Without hesitating, she yanked hard on it, dislodging it cleanly from the pile, only to have the dog strut forward to take another piece. However, before she could swing the curious object she had drawn, she heard the distinctive groan and snap of something giving way behind her, which, in short order, caused the hulking body of materials to come crashing down over top her and her bloodthirsty predator. She, as a consequence, blacked out.

Hermione lay unconscious for a long time, her body buried deep in the dark. Occasionally, the rustle of robes and footfalls on broken glass broke the quietude, but they would disappear as quickly as they had come, as one portkey was exchange for another. the dogs growled intermittently, prowling about, because they could acutely smell her spilt blood, which had pooled around her open wound. her breathing remained regular and full, as though she were quietly resting on her four-poster back at Hogwarts and not in the midst of a dank, chilled and abandoned muggle scrapyard. Hermione awoke sometime in the middle of the night, surrounded by the kind of inky darkness that existed only in the deep countryside, far away from the city lights. She groaned profusely as she tried to turn over, as her mind tried to process her location, well-being and other relevant things regarding her circumstances. Without thinking, she tried to sit up, which only served to remind her of the incredible stiffness in her legs and the pasty crackle of dried blood that flaked away from her waist, where much of it had settled down. She discovered that she had a killer headache, compounded by the fact that she managed to whack her head on some flat metal surface that was hanging over her body. With that physical jolt, the memories of her last moments of consciousness flooded back into her, filling her with a sudden panic. she whipped her head about in search of danger, but found that she could see nothing at all. Just stop and think, would you? her mind berated herself. You've been laying here helpless and vulnerable for God knows how long and you haven't been devoured yet. That probably means that you're safe at the moment. Hermione remembered the metal object she had pulled, the dog and the crash of tumbling metal that came down on top of her. She supposed that, somehow, she had managed not to get her head bashed in. Either the dog had been killed or it had been blocked from getting to her. She supposed that she must have been buried underneath the rubble and that it was by that fact alone that she had managed to elude death. Hermione blew out a long, suffering sigh. This is seriously not good, she thought.

Even if she managed to crawl out, she doubted she could get to her wand in time before one of the dogs pounced. Even if she had managed to kill her assailant, surely there were others. The body bind she had put on the first dog would have worn off within minutes of her loss of her wand. And there was no way for her to spy it quickly in the dark. The dogs would have superior olfactory senses that would lead them to her, regardless of the darkness. Hell, she thought, they probably have better night vision than humans. Human beings, she had decided a long time ago, were rather physically weak creatures, all things considered. Deciding she should try and check to see what kind of damages she had sustained, Hermione went about feeling each of her body parts gently with her hands, and also gently flexing each muscle area in turn. Eventually, she deemed that she had come out relatively unscathed from the falling detritus. The wound left by the dog, however, was another story. Hermione couldn't tell in the dark, but she suspected that it had become infected, which wasn't really a surprise to her. The blood that had flowed so freely before had now dried up and crusted over the several gashes and chunk of missing flesh. It put her in a bit of a quandary, because she knew that it would probably burst open and start bleeding again if she exerted herself, but it also required medical attention, which meant that she had to escape her predicament quickly. All in all, it seemed like a bit of a dilemma.

So, with nothing for her to do at the moment and with little to plan in the dark, Hermione tried to make herself comfortable by propping a few loose odds and ends together to fashion a makeshift pillow. She then nudged herself onto her side to try and get more comfortable. It was hardly easy, and sleep came only in restless fits broken every now and then by a chill wind or an unconscious twitch that sent her headrest collapsing out from underneath her.

When Hermione next woke, she could tell from the pinholes of light peeking through from in between the medley of scraps that formed her cage that dawn had just broken. The sky was still a deep blue. Testing each of her muscles in turn and then trying to breathe life and energy back into them with small movements, Hermione quickly assessed her surroundings in the shadowy blue gloom. Just above her - the thing she had banged her head on in the dark - was the hulking mass of an upside-down, crushed Lincoln Towncar protruding out from the wall of junk behind her. Ahead of her was an array of miscellaneous objects, including a steering wheel and the remains of an engine block. From underneath the block of metal was poking out half the remains of the dog, its eyes still glassy and unfocused, dried blood and bone fragments and some sort of grey and yellow pus-like liquids still oozing around and down its dirty brown fur. She studied it for several minutes, the pinpoints of light slowly brightening as the sun rose to its zenith. Something about it disturbed and thrilled her, because it was unique and different and appealed to her intellectual curiosity. Having spent numerous classes over the years seeing what kind of monstrosities could be formed by interspecies breeding, compliments of Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures class, Hermione was able to recognize that this creature was unique because it was not part of any naturally created species. It was like a mule; a hybrid, a freak of nature that probably was sterile de facto its very existence. She was willing to bet that it was at least part Krup, and that meant one very important thing - it was magical. It had magical blood.

That thought made her instinctively shiver. What are you contemplating, little girl? that sinister voice inside her head asked. Aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself? Twice in two days, you might be getting addicted.

Hermione hadn't really thought about it at the time, but she had, in fact, used blood alchemy to reverse the polarity of a portkey spell. one whose signature had been dulled over the passage of time and countless intervening spells. Moreover, the portkey spell was used without a catalyzing object. It was among some of the most complex arithmantic work she had ever done and dragged portkey reversion into uncharted waters. It could have won her the Nobel Prize for Potions, except for the simple fact that it required her to drink human blood. It suddenly hit her that she had drank someone's blood. Sure, she had been in a bit of a stupor from the loss of Ron - she hadn't been thinking about consequences in a very rational way. You knew that the Weasleys never would have let you get away with that if you contacted them first. They would have let Ron die before letting you experiment with human blood.

I'm not going to let Ron die because of some silly and arcane rule whose only purpose was probably to opiate the masses, she told herself. Good grief, what could possibly be wrong with dabbling in a bit of blood if it saves Ron's life? And Harry's too?

Hermione eyed the part-Krup with both excitement and fear, trying to recall a potent strengthening draft she had discovered in the restricted section of the Hogwarts library. After a time, Hermione took to meditating and pulling the memory of a day of research from the middle of her fifth year OWL revision. She had taken a break and decided to do some leisure reading. Often it consisted of perusing, in a glancing way, advanced materials just to see what kind of stuff was out there. It had been then that she had run across the first uses of blood in potions. She had wondered why they went through so many hoops to create a restorative draft or other enhancing agent without blood, when blood was so potent for those kinds of things to begin with. Of course her mind had already visited and analyzed the argument that the prospect of using blood was deemed to be morally abhorrent to some people. She herself didn't regard that argument with much of anything except contempt. As far as she was concerned, as long as subjects participated voluntarily and with informed consent, then it was fine by her. It was the implied lack of voluntariness and the uninformedness of elves that had bothered her so deeply. Apart from that, ethics was merely a matter of taste.

With that doubt set firmly aside, Hermione edged her way closer to the part-Krup, all the while willfully keeping herself ignorant of the dark thirst that drove her to unconsciously lick her lips in anticipation. In the periphery of her senses, she heard the distinct growl of another one of the part-Krups, the dark side of her mind idly enjoying the vision of her ripping it to shreds with her own bare hands. Already in the faint light she could see the blackening wound of the dog where its back protruded from the sharp edge of the broken engine block. Dried blood had welled up through the gasoline in the block, frothing at the engine block's lip where it bubbled out and met the remnants of the gasoline. When she got pressed up close to the still cooling body of the dog, Hermione balked briefly at its rather unpleasant smell. There were so many uncertainties with blood magic. it didn't help that it was a cross-species creature, or that it had been dead for nearly twenty-four hours, its blood left to decay along with its meat. She only hoped that whatever internal magic it had in it would preserve its body enough for her to make use of it. With her elbows digging into the cement, skin scraped away absently as she pressed her face in close to its muzzle, smelling its rotting digestive juices as they wafted idly out from between its jaws, which were clenched in a feral look of intense pain, Hermione's eyes gleamed. She took one ragged fingernail and dug tentatively into the soft skin of its throat, applying more and more pressure until she felt the warm sticky fluid that titillated her so deeply. She punctured the jugular more fully until the red liquid was sloshing against her fingers. Quickly, Hermione slashed at her own palms, ignoring the pain in her fervor to get the substances mixed. Once her blood was flowing freely in rivulets, cascading down into a thin stream and meeting the various estuaries formed by the part-Krup's own blood, Hermione angled her hand a bit higher and laid her lips down underneath, tilting upwards to let the warm liquid flow into her mouth. She drank hungrily, the dog's blood seeping into her both through her palm wound and also through her mouth, coating her lips, letting her tongue flick back and forth along the edges of her teeth to suck and savour the bitter, copper taste. Something inside her told her to remain cautious, to not drink too much, but she found she couldn't help it. It was calling to her, an invisible melody in the air, thrumming to the rhythm of the earth, of all the life in the world - all beating in unison and in discord. Hermione gulped one mouthful after another, her breath turning harsh as she begged for more, the feeling of energy pulsing through her as the magic of the carcass before her merged inexorably with her own. A tingle of incredible pleasure ran through her, making the feel of the chill morning air, the cool gravel earth, the soft pit-patter of her pack just beyond the decayed metal, electric to her senses.

Her face and hands bathed in drying blood, Hermione maneuvered cat-like to the narrow opening at one end of the enclosure. Absently, she snatched the crowbar that she had drawn from the junk heap as she moved into the bright morning sun. The wind was swift and chillier in the open and the bright light of the sky blinded her momentarily, as she tentatively got to her feet, the wound from yesterday giving her a pronounced limp that had her clutching at one side of the Lincoln. Hermione looked around, curious to see if there were any signs of traffic since her last examination yesterday afternoon. She couldn't really tell one way or the other, probably because the miniature avalanche had redefined the main junction. Regardless of that, Hermione felt acutely aware of all her senses. Her ears seemed to pick up the exact tenor of rustling bags and the patter of footsteps of dogs that she knew to be too far away for her to reasonably hear. Her eyes seemed to regard things in different colours, there were fewer in her palette but each one seemed to radiate an aura like the colours were spilling out of their designated boundaries and casting an ethereal glow to each object. The most acute of her sensory improvements was with her nose. She could smell and taste everything from the bitter flavour of gravel and dirt to the intoxicating scent of rust to the taste of blood and summer leaves in the far off distance. It was like a new kind of knowledge that she could draw in at will, pulling into her and usurping for her own needs. it was, in a word, exquisite.

Hermione limped tentatively to the junction where the two dogs had effectively pincered her. It was probably the standard drop off point for portkeys. She didn't know how many death eaters there were exactly or what they did on a daily basis, but she suspected that it wouldn't take too terribly long before someone used the junkyard as a mid-point. Certainly if anyone got called to the Dark Lord's lair, they would be expected to portkey here or to some other midway point. She hoped this was the only one or at least the main one so that she could cling to the hope that it would not be too long. After all, she had a boyfriend to save. The thought of running across a death eater made her unconsciously lick her lips and infuse her eyes with a glint of unfocused black. She could feel the magic of the Krup worming its way through her, taking full effect as each minute ticked by, the chill slipping off her body as though she had a warm coat of hair, the sensations she was picking up telling her exactly where all the vermin in her pack were hiding. Her pack? she thought. Is that how I think of them now? Yes, she supposed it was in fact how she thought of them. She could no longer imagine ripping them apart for pleasure as she could any other creature, though she would happily do so if any of them got out of line. More importantly, she felt she could do it, with or without the crowbar. she would probably prefer to do it with her body and nothing else; no - the crowbar was simply for the next hapless death eater that got in her way. For them, she would spare no mercy, no sporting chance to survive.

Before too long, the hybrids began to appear, snarling menacingly as they approached her, sniffing intently the ground at regular intervals. As they came close, Hermione standing tall and true and gazing back at them with the same unfocused, yet appraising expression that they themselves wore, they slowed and instead of baring their teeth in anger, they subsided and crouched down into a kneeling position, bowing their heads down and exposing the backs of their necks to her in a show of subservience. Hermione let out a wild grin and began to emit guttural sounds that instinctively beckoned them to her. They came, eternally grateful, it seemed, to have a true master at their disposal. One sniff of her, and they knew she was theirs to command. Such was the way of blood. And so, there Hermione stood, stroking gently the ragged fur that was a sure sign of a junkyard animal of the score of dogs that came to her silent call. She was their alpha, their pack leader and they were hers to command; she knew it, felt it deep within her bones. At the same time, she knew she now held a responsibility unlike any other for they placed their lives in her hands, and she, feeling the instinct to watch over them, made an internal promise not to lead them astray.

Before long, there was a pop of someone apparating into the area. Hermione stood stock still, her ears cocked and spying for the intruder. She had no wand, and she knew it, the way she knew that muggles were skimming the outskirts of the yard before running across the repulsion charms. She could smell the taste of the unicorn tail as it corroded over from exposure to the open air and all its impurities. No, her wand had been broken yesterday in the fight against the part-Krup. The Death Eater took one glance around and did a double-take. Hermione wasn't sure whether it was because the hybrids had all congregated or because she looked like the sight of death with blood and wounds festooning her otherwise virgin body.

The Death Eater wore customary black robes and a silver mask, but Hermione found that she could tell a lot from the person anyway. The person smelled male, though she couldn't quite describe in words what that meant. He smelled sweet and untouched and young, his face betraying his youth by the distinct lack of stubble. He was an aristocrat, she gathered because of the cleanliness that radiated off him the gentle yet persistent scent of light soaps, of mild foods and a rich morning tea. There was a distinct absence of sweat, and there was also fear, shyness, a kind of naive curiosity, as though he were wearing this particular form of travel for the first time. Yes, he was tender. He pointed his wand at her and said in a rather stiff voice. "Who are you?"

Hermione smiled, and from the twitch in his shoulder, she could tell that he was unnerved from the look of her smiling. I must look like a terrible fright. He didn't seem to concern himself with the dogs, though there was an underlying tension there as well. he's probably been told that they're docile to Death Eaters. If only he knew they serve a knew master now. One who will lead them to better things. With a tight nod and not one word spoken to the human, Hermione instructed her pack to pounce, leaving her to contentedly watch as they swiftly ripped him to shreds. Hermione's keen ears picked up the sound of another pop over the combined ecstasy of the dogs and the shrieks of agony of the wizard. Hermione edged into a dark alcove and watched silently as another Death Eater moved in more closely, wand raised and face clearly alight with shock at the sight of the hybrids having turned on the human. "bloody recruit," she heard him mutter as he took a step past her to get a better look at the dogs. Clearly he didn't think they would attack him; maybe he had personal experience with them. Hermione was hardly going to chance it, in the event that he had some sort of hold over them. Stealthing forward with unusual grace, Hermione drew near to the wizard from the back and swiveled her body in a twisting motion, her hips carrying the crowbar through and into the man's back, creating a sharp crack as it contacted the man's lower back. He let out a momentary cry before crashing to his knees. Hermione deftly brought the crowbar around for another swing and landed a direct blow on the man's wand hand, causing the carpal bones to crack and drive outwards into the skin, spraying blood across his wand and the roadway. He turned partly to try and gaze upon his attacker, his mask now askew, and, upon seeing the grim visage of Hermione, proceeded to whimper in fright. This only served to please Hermione on the inside, and she happily showed it to the man through her lunatic grin. I must look like the bloody devil, she mused.

Hermione cracked the man's jaw with the crowbar, sending bloodied teeth scattering across the ground. She then dropped the crowbar and picked up his wand, which was slick with warm blood. She considered drinking it - certainly there was a voice inside her urging her on. However, the greater voice of reason, her Ravenclaw side, told her that drinking blood from a magical being could prove to have highly toxic side effects. It was only the fact that the Krup's magical blood had been diluted that kept her from simply convulsing and dying in her cage.

Hermione instead aimed the wand at the wizard and bandaged his tattered hand. She then enervated him and looked into his face, fright and anguish still apparent in his otherwise smooth and unscarred features.

"Where's Ron?" Hermione asked in a low, dangerous voice.

The wizard moaned and his eyes began to flutter. Hermione hit him with a tickling hex, which promptly forced him to twitch uncontrollably - an action that put him in great pain due to his back injury. "Where is Ron?" Hermione asked again.

The wizard didn't seem to have much of a fight left in him, because he stated in a matter of fact tone that was touched with resignation. "He's in Parkinson Manor."

"Good. Now how do I get there?"

"Portkey," he managed.

"Which one?"

"Anyone."

"I don't believe you." Hermione motioned for one of the hybrids to advance. it snarled at the wizard and came close to its face, sniffing and tracing its sharp teeth along the soft exposed skin of his neck.

"Oh God, I'm telling you the truth. Any portkey. Just aim your wand and say Parkinson Manor before you touch it. Please, I swear. I'm telling you the truth. That's all. Works for all the portkeys, so long as they're used from here."

Hermione nodded. "All right. Makes sense." She really had no idea whether he was lying or not, and had no way of telling without veritassurum. She resolved to brew some, and also, possibly, learn legilimancy while she was at it. Certainly it couldn't hurt in the war.

Suddenly Hermione felt a rush of dizziness that forced her to take a step back and shake her head to clear her blurred vision. What the hell? she thought irritably, glancing around in search of another wizard. She sniffed the air to determine if maybe there was one hiding underneath an invisibility cloak, but, to her dismay, she found that she couldn't pick up anything at all. It was as though the scents and tastes that had come alive not a half hour ago were slowly being shut off. Hermione gazed down at the hybrids in her pack and saw that many of them had moved in and begun tearing into the Death Eater. Others were sniffing about her curiously as though they were in a daze. Her own energy levels, which had been renewed by the blood, were dropping rapidly. Crap, she thought in a burst of anger, as a hollow burning feeling swept through her. No, no, no. Whatever hold she had had on the pack, whatever energy she had drawn from the dead hybrid's blood was wearing off and with it was going that beautiful connection to a world without politics and without the moral sense that seemed like such a plague to humankind. She wanted to fall to her knees and sink her incisors into the nape of one of her kin, to draw its blood, to feed and feel that strength once more. the need was overpowering and she wasn't sure she could stand without that renewing energy.

You have to go, she thought, buckling down her baser desires and focusing on why she had ended up in that desolate place. Ron needs you. Hermione beat down the seemingly irrational spike of jealousy that tried to well up within her over the fact that Ron's captivity was depriving her of her desires.

Using the revealing charm, which was a derivative of one of the three perimeter charms, Hermione quickly identified a portkey. She aimed her wand at the gnarled hubcap and said in a clear voice, "Parkinson Manor." The portkey shimmered slightly, which was enough of a sign to Hermione that it worked. She thus took one lingering look back at the wasteland of metal and dogs and dead bodies, momentarily saddened by the feeling of her fading empathy to the hybrids and their plight. One of them had already cast its gaze upon her, its bloodlust taking over. She was no longer one of them. Hermione knelt and snatched the portkey off the ground, aware that the hybrid that had turned its attention to her had leapt into the air, its fangs bared and glistening in anticipation of her flesh. The jerk of the portkey as she travelled through space took hold, blending the world into a medley of liquid colours swirling about her for a brief moment before depositing her on the cold stone floor of what she guessed to be the anteroom of the living hall. The room was boxy, dark and silent. It was barren and colourless and had only one door. The portkey must have alerted someone of my arrival, she thought. Immediately, Hermione began casting revealing charms to see whether there were any wards on the door and whether somebody was coming. Her sensory perimeter charm was detecting slight movement, though she couldn't tell what it meant. Trying to effect a magic detection perimeter charm, Hermione wove together a network of magical detector spells and gently expanded them outward, the way she had learned to effect a sensory perimeter charm. Sure enough, she could tell that there were two magical beings just beyond the doorway. Their signatures were different, and she suspected that one of them was a house elf.

If only I could hear what they were saying, she thought. She simply decided to wait for someone to open the door, or for the pair to go away so that she could blow the door wide open. and continue moving onward in pursuit of Ron. After a time, her detection charms told her that one of them had apparated away, presumably the house elf, and the other had simply walked out of her range. Hermione counted to ten before trying the unlocking charm, which, to her surprise, worked in opening the door. Not much for security, she supposed, though it probably wasn't necessary since it would be difficult to get into Parkinson Manor in the first place. Moreover, from what she understood of the old pureblood manors, the Parkinsons were relatively low on the prestige scale, which was mirrored by the usually below average talent in the family. Hermione's source on the subject could have been described accurately as being dubious at best, since it was an assessment of the pureblood versus muggle-born debate, and it was told through the eyes of a muggle-born. Still, of all the articles she had read on the subject, it was clearly the best. Wizards and witches were sorely in need of a lesson on the scientific method.

"Oy, you there!" a voice called, breaking the silence as Hermione trekked down the carpeted hallway. She froze instantly, her wand at the ready, a curse on her lips before she turned around to face the person who had caught her. To her surprise, however, the arrester was not a person so much as it was an entity - a portrait to be exact. One of an elderly lady with a strict bun and black eyes and a pug nose that immediately identified her as a direct descendant of pansy the pug Parkinson.

"Er, hi," Hermione said, scanning her memory for everything she knew about portraits, and, more specifically, disabling them.

"What, may I ask, do you think you are doing skulking around the illustrious home of the most ancient and noble house of Parkinson?"

Hermione repressed an urge to roll her eyes at the declaration of the estate, which was a verbatim replica of what Mrs. Black had used to call the Black estate. She wondered briefly if there was a distinct lack of creativity amongst purebloods that drove them to always use the same insults and pithy phrases. Hermione decided she would attempt to glean some useful information from the portrait before dispatching her. "I'm looking for the dungeons. You wouldn't perhaps be able to point me in the right direction, would you?" Hermione tried lacing her voice with as much innocence and naiveté as she could muster, schooling her features into bland hopefulness.

The portrait did not seem fazed however, because she merely scrutinized Hermione and asked, "Exactly what line are you from? That hair looks too bushy to belong to any of the families I know of."

Hermione instinctively pursed her lips in irritation. Will the bushiness of my Goddamned hair ever stop becoming my sole outstanding physical attribute? I have eyes too, you know. And nice breasts and a lean frame and tanned cheeks and a button nose. And let's not forget my incredibly perfect, non-bucked teeth, which happen to be pearly white, compliments of regular brushing and a strict avoidance of confections. Hermione curbed her instinct to start ranting at the prudish pureblood and instead, realizing that the jig was up, surreptitiously aimed her wand and silently executed an advanced countercharm similar to that of the homorphous charm that Lockheart had described in second year. This one was primarily designed to exorcise ghosts but worked on paintings nearly as effectively. Exorcisia, Hermione mouthed, careful to make a smooth, circular pattern with her wand as she deployed the spell. The portrait seemed to understand what Hermione was doing, because a look of horror crossed her face as she was slowly extinguished from the frame, leaving a blank canvas. Hermione cast about for signs of any other portraits in the hallway, and, thanking God for small favours, relaxed when she saw none. She quickly created an advanced illusion of the elderly woman perched in her portrait, eyeing suspiciously the area ahead of her. Hermione then tied the spell to the portrait frame, much like an enchantment, so that it would last for several hours after she walked away from it. While the illusion could only move about in the frame in a twitchy sort of way and while it could not talk, Hermione hoped that it would be enough to fool the occasional passerby. Preparing herself to go on, Hermione continued down the hall, pausing only momentarily to attempt the disillusionment charm. She felt a cold trickle as the spell washed over her and then conjured a mirror examine her handiwork. To her dismay, it was less than perfect. Already, the spell seemed to be wearing off, lines of her skin and colours of her various clothes were slowly reforming. Damn, she thought, clearly disappointed. Sure it was a complex spell to say the least and probably required multiple focal points, but she really thought she had gotten it after having read a theoretical account. Unfortunately, she had never bothered actually trying to execute it, since it was a spell usually taught to aurors and no others. Its primary application was defense, after all. After quashing down an irrational stab of anger at her own ineptitude, Hermione continued onward.

Parkinson Manor was probably the largest single family residence Hermione had ever been in. It had a total of five floors, including the two underground ones, and the house itself occupied over three thousand square metres of land. That didn't include the vast expanse of gardens and open fields that sprawled outward from its doorstep. As such, with hardly a plan to go by, Hermione found herself limping aimlessly through the halls, until she got lost. She assumed that, apart from any Death Eater guests that the Parkinsons may have been entertaining, she would only have to contend with Pansy and her parents. In theory, Pansy should have had a sibling. From what Hermione understood, of wizarding property laws, they were a bit medieval and purebloods tended to breed like rabbits until they generated a suitable male heir. The fact that Pansy did not have any siblings at Hogwarts suggested to Hermione that her parents were a bit different from the normal pureblood mould.

Intermittently, Hermione cast the magical detection scan, and was consistently amazed by the distinct lack of magical signatures in the building. The Hogwarts Express and castle were rife with magic and rendered any such scan completely useless except by those who were particularly attuned to magic signatures. Hermione herself couldn't identify more than the basics, despite her vociferous attempts to do so.

After what seemed like an eternity, it became apparent that Hermione was in a bad way. Not only was she lost, but she was a mess of blood and grime, which had been caked over her skin and hair, causing a chronic itching sensation. Every time she twitched a facial muscle, smiled or grimaced, she could feel the dried blood on her face cracking anew, sometimes sending flakes dangling tenuously from her skin. Worse yet, the wound on her leg was giving her serious troubles. Worse still, her spellwork was getting shoddier by the minute as her last reserves of energy dried up, leaving only a stale sort of persistent hunger-nausea combination in the pit of her stomach. Hermione found herself wandering aimlessly around on the third floor, having narrowly dodged two house elves who were busy scourgifying the floors. She knew she should be trying to make it downstairs, because that was most likely where Ron was holed up. Dungeons tended to be underground. Still, she couldn't seem to manage to muster up enough courage to actually open any of the doors that lined the halls of the Manor. That is, until she felt she were on the cusp of expiry and, at that point, driven only by sheer desperation, opened a non-descript, brown wooden door and stumbled through, only managing to close it barely before sinking down onto the hard grey stone and dozing off.

When she awoke sometime later, one side of her face chilled by having been pressed up against the cold stone floor, she became aware quickly of a sinister presence in the room. Hermione struggled to reconnect her mind to her body through the fuzziness of a restless sleep. She rolled over onto her stomach, unable to hold back a groan of pain and soreness and an omnipresent hunger as she wearily raised her head and squinted at the candelabras that had flared to life on the walls. It was then that she noticed the darkness that formed the distinct outline of a cloak, standing in one corner of the room, its breath visible in the chill air. Crap, she thought dimly, absently struggling into a sitting position so she could better assess the damage. However, her limbs still were not cooperating, and all she managed to do was make it halfway before collapsing and letting out another groan. Maybe I'm under a spell, she thought. Some sort of weight spell that's making it difficult to move. She knew, however, that that was not the case. The last twenty-four hours had taken a serious toll on her and she was simply not able to deal with this new threat. Wearily, she resigned herself to simply laying there, breathing shallowly and praying that her death would be painless. After several moments of inactivity, she chanced a glance up and saw that the person continued to stand at ten paces from her, remaining motionless. Maybe it's a trick of my mind, or some kind of illusion, she thought, her mind now beginning to contemplate the situation. She had stumbled into some sort of dungeon chamber, which she thought was rather odd, given that she was on the top floor. But then again, the main floor had had a room similar to this one. It had been an entry and exit point for portkey usage. This room may have served a similar function, or something entirely different. Before Hermione could take anymore time to regroup and muster some strength to move, the figure approached her, its gait deceptively smooth, like it were gliding and not really touching the floor. That's odd, Hermione thought. The only creatures I've ever known to float around like that dressed all in black are dementors.

Absently, she fingered her wand, barely registering that it was even there or that she could use it to cast a simple spell. The dark figure stopped next to her, towering over her prone form, its head cocked downward and gazing at her from behind the unfathomable depths of its black hood.

"Well?" she managed. "You have me. Now what the hell are you going to do? Torture me? Use me as bait? I assure you I know nothing and there aren't very many people who are going to care if I go missing. You may as well just get it over with and knock me off, put me on ice or give me concrete shoes or whatever it is you thugs do to unsuspecting victims of your nefariousness." Hermione sighed and slumped down on the floor in defeat. I'm going to die a virgin, she thought. Wonderful.

Still, the being that hovered over her did not make a move, did not gesture, did not even seem to acknowledge her words. It simply stared for the longest time, after which, from the depths of its hood, its black eyes flared with a glowing white luminescence. Hermione was too busy wallowing to notice this phenomenon, though, if she had, she would have known that it was an obscure power of dementors and that it meant that the creature was trying to communicate by deploying a focused form of legilimancy. Hermione, oblivious to this fact, merely screamed in fright when she felt the rush of images that the dementor was sending her way. She saw the blinding light that a dementor sees when it draws the soul from a body, the smoky taste of one's life essence, the sour taste of human fear. She felt water spilling off her charred and gnarled skin as it dips one hand into lakewater to poison the creatures that live there. She felt the taste of human despair and of the happy memories that nourish the darkest of creatures. She remembered seeing a mother bless a child, she saw that youth grow up, play Quidditch, go to school, fall in love. She felt her make love to the man of her dreams, the excitement, the sweat and the anxiousness of her first time. She felt her go to war and fight and kill, standing over her massacred victims, her body sunbaked from long days in the heat, her clothes grimy and tattered and rich with the smell of earth and blood. She watched her rise like a plague across the plains of Europe, delivering deathblow after deathblow to all who opposed her; like Napoleon, she demonstrated uncanny military strategy. Men and women, both magical and muggle were struck down under the beating sun and by torchlight in the dead of night. Absently she saw this once naive and innocent woman now turned monster direct her wrath North, through Norway until she could see that they had passed the arctic circle, where she slaughtered her enemies under the sheen of the midnight sun. I am a warlord, the dementor thought to her. I am the wrath of God.

Hermione watched as the soldier drove her forces further East. She watched as her men crumbled beneath the constant onslaught that she demanded they exercise on her behalf. Soon, only she and a cadre of her finest troops remained, the rest having been purged through their own weakness. She and her twenty captains reached the hot, arid lands of Asia, their skin having been permanently tanned by the decades they had spent under the sun. Hermione guessed from the look of the rivers that they had passed - the Tigris, the Euphrates and the Nile, that they had finally reached India, where they settled at the edge of the Ganges.

"We have come this far," said the leader. Hermione marvelled at her eyes, which had taken on a reddish quality, a tribute to her constant bloodlust over the last twenty years. "We have survived where all else have failed. And we will go further. Further until there is no one left to oppose us. We will draw life time and again,. The sun will make sparkle all the dead bodies of our foes. Soon, we will stand at the Gates to the City of God, and we will break down their doors and ravage those who sit idle inside."

And so they went, those twenty-one deluded souls, cursing every living human in sight until they reached the coast of Indonesia, where they had finally grown old and weary, their skin turned to charcoal, the once pink flesh having been sapped of its warmth and turned brittle and grey. They had abandoned their wands long ago, for their powers had grown so great, they could destroy a man with a mere glance. Their presence had become enough to strike terror into those weaker mortals upon whom they now fed for their very sustenance. Such was their power that they rode the winds of magic, having no more need of solid ground. such was their curse that they were immortal like God, and had lost all other purpose except one - to kill.

Hermione, understanding that this dementor was showing her a tale the likes of which could never be found in any reference book, was terribly intrigued. She had unconsciously managed to pull herself into a sitting position and was now looking up wide eyed at the dementor like a child being told a bedtime story. She locked gazes with its luminescent eyes and thought out to it, Why are you telling me this?

It responded by flashing images in front of her - recent ones from her own memory. The image of her hungrily licking the blood of the hybrid dog-Krup as it coursed down her palms. Hermione quickly began assimilating all the facts that she knew about the significance of drinking blood and trying to tie it in to everything she knew about dementors. However, she came up with nothing and merely gazed questioningly up at the creature.

It knelt down so that its chilled breath tickled her eyebrows, and it issued two very important words. Free us.

With those words, the dementor employed the same information dissemination technique that Harry's conjured snake used back at the Red Cherry, the one which had caused him excruciating pain. For Hermione, the feeling was no different, except that she could make out and absorb the rush of images and feelings that bombarded her psyche at high speed. When it finished, the dementor stood up straight and waited for her to rise.

Hermione took several long minutes to collect herself and to assimilate the data that had been forced upon her. When she finally managed to gain control of her senses and stop the otherwise uncontrollable shivering that had accompanied the mental violation, she peered up at the creature and said, "You're her. You're the one. The first dementor. That from which all others have spawned. You have existed for millennia, and you want me to free you from your age of bondage to this mortal world. In that regard, I will help you. I will free you, even if it kills me."

The dementor gave a nod that would have been imperceptible to anyone else. You are the Dark One, it said. You are Atma. Go and find your mate locked here in this place. I will give you strength long enough to flee. And so, when you have done this and are back amongst the feeble creatures of this world, you will follow the paths of energy that whisper along the wind and you will do as you have promised. Go, then.

Hermione scrambled to her feet, her leg wound partly healed and her fatigue and hunger momentarily sated. She responded to the dementor with that same sort of imperceptible nod and wound her way through the manor with a new, practiced ease borne out of the dementor's acute memories.

Ron awoke to the ever-present whirring of the engine of the Hogwarts Express. He blearily looked up into Hermione's brown eyes and smiling face. At first, the only memories that came to him were the dark days he had spent locked in the dungeons of what he would later discover to be Parkinson Manor. he had been tortured from time to time under various dark spells, though there had not been any lasting damage. The Cruciatus had been applied only once and, as far as Ron was concerned, it was plenty enough that he'd never want to experience it again. He had tried everything under the sun to escape during that time, including wandless magic, feigning illness and astral projection. Nothing had worked. Only a couple of times did anyone try to interrogate him and it had been, oddly enough, about Harry. This line of questioning gave Ron hope that the Death Eaters did not have his best friend, but it was short-lived when he found out they were simply waiting for the next batch of veritassurum to pump him for information before disposing of him. This gave him the queer sensation of living on a deadline. He couldn't say he had liked it very much, except that it did give him a healthy appreciation for all the little things in life. He had sworn at some point in the darkness that if he ever had a chance to live past his imprisonment, he would not begrudge a life replete only with the absence of pain.

He had been surprised when he saw Hermione approaching his cell. it had seemed like a dream come true, not that he fancied seeing Hermione in a dungeon - well, there had once been a particularly sadomasochistic erotic dream of his, but that had been shoved hard and fast into a locked room more fortified than Azkaban. At any rate, she had come to save him, and it had been the most wondrous feeling in the world, watching the love of his life break him from his captivity, minus the small feeling of emasculation for having to be rescued by "his woman".

It took Ron several moments of grogginess to realize where and when he was. He managed to get to a sitting position and peer around in the gloom, which seemed darker than he remembered his cell to be. "Hermione? Where are we?"

"We're on the Hogwarts Express," she said, flashing a light into his eyes as she checked both for signs of vampirism and signs for shock. "It looks like we found out what He's carrying."

Memories of the vampire flooded into Ron's brain and he instinctively glanced around in search of the predator. All he found was a thick layer of smoldering dust coating his pants and the surrounding floor. Vaguely, he acknowledged that Hermione had stood and was now holding his wand out to him expectantly. A vampire, he thought. Crap, that's worse than gold. How many are there on this thing? And what other dark creatures is he calling to him.

As if reading his thoughts, Hermione answered, "I doubt there's only vampires on this train. Moreover, it's hardly his complete army of them. Most likely this is just the few he's deploying for his fortress, or possibly it's the executives of all the different races. That would better explain the extensive precautions."

Ron took his wand and stood, still eyeing the dark. He absently vanished the vampire remains and looked at Hermione directly. "If that's true, our lives would be better spent taking this thing down and dispatching all the creatures on it."

Hermione shook her head. "You and I both know that we've got a snowball's chance in Hell of taking down the Colonel. You saw what she can do. She'll return this way any moment. She's probably already sensed us and is moving in for the kill. If we had any kind of ace up our sleeve, believe me, Ron, I would go for it, but we've got nothing. Neither of us have occlumancy shields strong enough to deflect her legilimantic perimeter scan, and you know she'll be deploying it on full alert in search of us. She doesn't play around."

Ron nodded. "I know. It's just such an opportunity."

Hermione nodded in agreement. "You're right, and that's why we need to keep our heads and not give into it. In the end, none of it really matters anyway."

Quietly, they made their way to the back of the train. Once exiting the final door, they found themselves on a small metal balcony, the wind curling in from either side of the train and attempting to drag them into the airstream. They both took a moment to relish the freedom that lay before them in the rolling hills of grass and rock, the sun setting on the horizon, turning the sky into a mixture of reds and yellows and oranges, all underscored by a ridge of black cliffs in the distance, golden light cresting them from where the sun touched. "I guess this is it," Hermione said, her words blown away like dead leaves in the wind.

Ron seemed to understand because he nodded. Behind them, the door was blown apart by the arrival of the Colonel, but neither of them took notice, not even heeding the flash of the door fragments as they flew by them in a heap of scarred metal. Ron and Hermione both cast cushioning and protection charms on their bodies before hurling themselves off the platform and letting their bodies get buffeted about by the wind before slamming into the ground below. Ron was the first to get up, brushing dirt and grass and confused ants off his shirt and pants and staring off into the distance, watching the retreating back of the train, where the Colonel stood watching them. We'll meet again, Ron thought grimly, the memory of their first encounter with her fresh in his mind. The battle had been a sore point with him, because he had been put out of the duel exceptionally quickly, and it reminded him uncomfortably of the battle at the DOM. Hermione came and stood next to him, watching the train as well. She clasped his hand in hers and began speaking, breaking him from his reverie. "Where to now?" she asked.

"Let's get back to the flat. I need a drink." With that, they disapparated.

It had been two weeks since the Parkinson Manor affair, and Ron and Hermione had been busy, to say the least. It was through a convoluted set of circumstances that they found themselves running through the halls of Malfoy manner being chased by something that looked suspiciously like Fluffy. They managed by a hair's breadth to avoid the Cerberus by throwing themselves through a large, ornate doorway. One quick look around told Hermione that they were in some sort of banquet hall, if the size were any indication. All about were strewn chairs and large round tables. There were several lights hanging from the ceiling, all of them lit, including a large chandelier with over a hundred magical lights. It would have been rather elegant looking if it weren't for the stacks upon stacks of crates that were piled in rows like shelves in a warehouse. Hermione and Ron managed only fifteen steps before they turned a corner and saw a figure standing in the center of the room. Whoever it was, the person was lean and decked out in some very serious battle attire. Hermione pursed her lips and chanced a glance at Ron, who was also looking very focused. Neither of them had any illusions about who it was that they were standing in front of. This was the infamous Colonel. One of Voldemort's topmost lieutenants; a silent member as it were, who had been part of his elite vanguard. They had both heard rumours from prisoners and from Death Eaters themselves about her. None of it was very good.

We can take her, Hermione thought, mentally digging her heels and preparing for a fight. They always underestimate us, and we're not exactly the fifth year fresh out of OWLs flunkies that we were back at the DOM. How tough can one person be, anyway? Still, it didn't help that the stranger was dressed in rather imposing clothes. She wore basilisk hide boots, a dragonhide holster and a nundu combat shirt. Hermione noted that the figure's identity was only occluded by deep shadows from one of the tall stacks of crates.

If she takes one step toward us, we'll know who she is, Hermione thought, and then, idly, she seemed to realize that their adversary was also aware of this fact. Hermione made a mental note that the Colonel kept a good watch of her surroundings.

Just then, a door opened in the far corner of the room, revealing none other than Bellatrix Lestrange. This made Hermione inwardly groan and want to start throwing curses. However, she held back, knowing that the first person to throw a curse in a direct, frontal attack was usually the first to go down.

"Well, well," Bellatrix cooed in her ever irritating voice, still scratchy from her days in Azkaban. "What do we have here? Kiddies coming to play?"

"Hello, Trixie," said the Colonel, her eyes never wavering from Ron and Hermione, who stood shoulder to shoulder.

"Ah, hello," Bellatrix said, smirking as if sensing Hermione's frustration. "What say we dispatch them?"

"You have a job to do, if memory serves me correctly. The Dark Lord is waiting."

Bellatrix shrugged. "You just want to have a bit of fun with the kiddies on your own. Be careful though, the mudblood packs a punch. Can't say much about the boy though." She then turned to Hermione and said, "S'pose I'll see you around. Maybe in the dungeons if you survive that long." Bellatrix then promptly left.

"Well," Hermione said, somewhat surprised. "I didn't think you'd refuse help. I've been told you had more sense than that."

The Colonel shrugged and then took that fated step into the light. Hermione's jaw dropped, to say the least. "Narcissa Malfoy?" she asked aloud. It wasn't so much that Hermione was surprised that Narcissa was an agent of the Dark Lord. No, that was painfully obvious from their encounter in the robe shop prior to the start of sixth year. No, it was a surprise that her name commanded fear and respect from Death Eaters for something other than her ability to throw a soiree. Don't underestimate her, Hermione's mind screamed, knowing that revealing her identity was probably part of a feint to draw one of them to fire first. Certainly, from the look in her cold blue eyes, Hermione was not taking any chances. Even a poodle could do some serious damage if it were backed into a corner.

Unfortunately, Ron took the bait and, with a look of incredulity that told Hermione he was clearly unimpressed, cast a simple stunner in her direction. Cissy batted the spell away with an arcing motion, which, on the return arc, issued another spell. Hermione wouldn't have even noticed if she weren't scrutinizing her adversary for signs of weakness. As it were, Hermione was helpless to do anything, because the spell was invisible and had only been noticeable by a short glow of the wand tip, signalling a particularly powerful spell. Worse yet, it was cast wordlessly and travelled extremely fast, for Ron found himself only half a second later buried waist deep in solid objects. It wasn't even that Ron had bit hit with things. No, the spell had struck him, and from what Hermione could tell, simply apparated him three feet into the ground, effectively splinching him.

Can people even do that? Hermione asked. She had heard of sidelong apparation, but this use of it was ingenious to say the least.

Focus, Hermione thought, taking careful aim with her wand and considering her options. Cissy, with a slight shift in her direction, prepared to duel and began circling her. What's she looking for? Hermione wondered, though not inclined to find out. Hermione sent a simple stunner followed by a blasting hex and a summoning charm, which brought a chair flying between the two jus in time to intercept a curse that Hermione couldn't even see coming. Judging from the way the invisible spell crushed the chair like a vice, Hermione guessed it was the Constriction curse. Crap, she thought, I'm seriously out of my league here. Both her spells had been thwarted, which wasn't so much of a surprise. The fact that Narcissa had managed to send off another curse in the interim without Hermione even noticing was what unnerved her.

Think of it like chess, she thought. Remember what Ron told you. It's like squares. And it doesn't hurt to be a little creative, either. Hermione raised her magical perimeter charm, and kept a constant feel for any incoming magic. It wouldn't give her much time to dodge a spell, but she hoped it would be enough to raise a shield. Hermione deftly evaded a spell that blew apart a wooden box behind her. Through the dust that was swiftly fanning out, she managed to cast several quick stingers in attempt to ward off Narcissa, whose movements were fogged by the floating debris. Before Hermione could get out of the way, however, the dust seemed to thicken around her, and she found herself being bombarded by the wood shrapnel from the exploded box. Hermione turned tail and ran from the area effects charm that Cissy was using, throwing herself to the ground as she caught sight of the green light of the killing curse sail overhead. She rolled over, accidentally dodging another curse and bolted behind another wooden crate. Now what the hell do I do? she thought, searching for something to use.

In a flash, Cissy was present and Hermione found herself exchanging rapid spellfire and quickly being worn down and backed into a corner. Hermione caught a burning hex on her left arm and was forced to ignore the flames as she continued defending herself from the onslaught. Before long, the smell of her own burning flesh began to draw her attention and it was all she could do to throw herself out of the way of another set of rapid fire spells, and simultaneously roll around to snuff out the fire. She was already conjuring a transparent granite wall to take whatever punishment her adversary was going to dish out. As soon as the thing was erected, it exploded in a shower of granite shrapnel that was slashing at her skin and clothes, forcing her to skid back and collapse in a tangle heap. Hermione raised the gravel shards, which were fading out of existence as is the fate of all temporary conjurations with a remote focus summoning charm, causing the dueling area to be littered with debris. Sure enough, four pieces of granite intercepted incoming spellfire, causing them to vanish out of existence along with the offending magic. Her face still schooled into a mask of neutrality, Cissy advanced forward, slowly closing the gap between her and her prey. Hermione was keenly aware of the fact that there didn't seem to be a single thing she could cast to slow down Narcissa. It's because you're soft, Hermione thought bitterly. For God's sake, you've been dubbed the Dark One. Do something dark for a change. With that thought, Hermione mustered up the feelings she had used to catalyze one of the unforgiveables and whispered, "Crucio."

Narcissa's eyes widened for a moment in realization before she made a complicated motion that looked like the letter 'q', which, to Hermione's chagrin, absorbed and stopped the curse. Not willing to let up any advantage she had, she continued casting it again and again, oblivious to the drain the execution of the spell was causing, and trying to keep at bay the rising feeling of uncontrollable anger that she was letting loose within her. It is consuming you, said a voice inside her, one which she had all but forgotten about over the past two weeks. It felt both familiar like a half-empty bottle of Scotch and tired as though it were left to grow stale. You are failing, Dark One. Cease and desist.

No, Hermione responded fiercely. She continued to cast the Cruciatus, occasionally intermingling her spellfire with the killing curse, and simultaneously scrambling on her knees to either side in an erratic fashion to avoid any offensive spells that Narcissa may have been able to counter with. Whatever shield she had used to absorb the Cruciatus clearly did not work on the killing curse, or at least she was not prepared to try it, because Cissy simply dodged as best she could. Hermione, if she saw herself in a mirror, would have died of fright, for her eyes had turned into chips of obsidian black and her hair was sporting charcoal roots. Her skin was growing paler by the moment. Not even the Dark Lord Voldemort is fool enough to cast the unforgiveables like this. Please, Dark One. Desist.

Before Hermione knew what she was doing, she was driving Narcissa backwards, albeit at a snail's pace. Narcissa sent a blasting hex at Hermione, who rolled to one side, letting a crater form where she had once rested. Still, Hermione countered by continuing her barrage of killing curses and pain curses. She was hardly aware of the fact that she had managed to cast the killing curse fifty times and the cruciatus over one hundred in less than five minutes - a record Lord Voldemort would have been impressed with. She was hardly aware of the fact that blood was dripping down her nose and she was starting to sport a headache to go with her new look. all the while, despite her impeccable aim, Cissy did not once get hit, a fact which spurred Hermione's growing hatred for the damnable woman. Managing two quick, successive killing curses, Hermione paused for a brief moment to enjoy what she thought was her inevitable victory. Cissy threw herself out of the way of the first curse, only to find herself in the path of the second, which hit her full on in the chest, dropping her like dead weight. That's right, Hermione thought, her eyes glittering with satisfaction. A satisfaction that was short lived however, for when she looked down at herself to assess her condition, she saw that her fingers were trembling uncontrollably, the skin having turned to a flaked granite colour. Worse yet, her wand was oozing something oily and slick from the pores of the wood and the once pristine, white unicorn hair had shriveled up and become black. What have I done?

Hermione limped over to where Ron was splinched, his body racked with shudders as the splinching slowly affected his bodily systems. She knelt down and hugged him, closing her eyes and enjoying the scent of his skin, all the while a part of her mind was trying to figure out how to reverse the splinching. "Hey," she said.

"Hey," he managed, though she could hear the pain in his voice. "You should get out of here."

Hermione shook her head. "Not without you, Ron."

"Hermione..."

""Shh," she put a finger to his lips to silence him. "You know I won't leave you, so don't waste your breath. Let's just figure out how to get you out of this predicament. Then we can make our way to the apparation point and get out of here."

"You'll need to apparate me," Ron said. "Dad said it's how you have to fix a splinching."

"I've never done that before," Hermione responded, frowning.

"I have faith in you."

She stared down at Ron's weary form, aware that she herself was horribly dishevelled. She doubted she had any strength left to fight another battle. She wasn't even sure she could cast a stunner at this point, if her wand and her wand arm were any indication. Still, she resolved to try and, with that, Hermione stood and took a step back, critically surveying Ron's position the way a curse breaker would survey his quarry. Eventually, Hermione tried calling to her the feeling that she normally associated with apparation. As she felt the tight ball of energy in her chest loosen and begin to expand out, Hermione, tried redirecting that feeling through her wand and out towards Ron. At first, she didn't think she had succeeded, for she could not see anything spilling out from her, but, after a moment, she saw that Ron was slowly disappearing from head to toe. forcing herself to maintain the connection in order to complete the reversal, Hermione remained fixed, keeping that flow of energy open until Ron was completely gone and reforming next to her. Once he was completely solid, she let herself collapse, whereupon Ron snatched her up and held her in his arms, whispering comforting words that she could not quite make out through her exhaustion.

They both proceeded to the exit on the far side of the room. However, before they made it halfway, the sight of the Colonel rising to her feet caught Hermione's eye. At first, she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. "No," she said, it can't be. You're dead. I killed you." However, as clear as day, both Ron and Hermione stood watching Cissy awkwardly get to her feet. Hermione cast a stunner at her, but she merely waved it away with one hand.

"How?" Hermione asked. "It's not possible."

Cissy smirked. "anything's possible with magic, child." Cissy raised her wand, and Hermione could now see that Cissy was holding it by the tip. The handle was burnt to a crisp.

"You threw it in the way of the spell?" Hermione asked, surprised. She had to admit it was pretty clever, though she didn't understand quite how it was done. The killing curse could travel through a wand tip due to its unique properties.

"Draco never did give you enough credit, I think. That's what I did, though I didn't throw my wand. I simply pointed the handle outward and caught the curse with it. Pity though, as it has rendered my wand useless. I will simply have to commission a new one from Olivander."

"Olivander?" Hermione asked. "You have him? Where is he? What have you done to him?"

"I assure you, he's quite comfortable in his new abode."

"Tell me where he is," Hermione said, brandishing her wand and preparing to hex the elder Malfoy.

"Nonsense. I would do no such thing, even if you tortured me. Not that you will."

Hermione sent a burning hex and an incarceration hex at her, but she waved them away with her hand. She was itching to cast the Cruciatus. She knew she could hit her now, especially if Ron laid down a suppressing fire, but she couldn't really do that front of him, could she? He was a pureblood and had been told from birth all kinds of horror stories about the use of the unforgiveables and the dark arts generally. Stories which Hermione was only now starting to take seriously. You can't use those, she thought. They won't help you. In the end, they will only serve to bring you down.

"Come on, Ron," she said. "We don't have time. We'd better go."

Ron agreed, keeping his gaze on their surroundings and trusting that Hermione would keep an eye on Narcissa.

Having survived Malfoy Manor and the Colonel, Ron and Hermione made their way to the apparation point without any further complications and apparated away.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I own none of it.

Chapter Ten

Ron's Army

September 7th. Hermione awoke to the sound of falling rain slashing down against the concrete balcony of her apartment. She crawled out of Ron's still arms, hugging her nightdress around her as she battled the chill air. She wasn't sure what had possessed her to stand, or to go to the living room and stare out at the greasy streetlamps exposing the sheen of water that coated the pre-dawn darkness. The moon was out, strangely enough, peeking out from far off to the side through a tear in the fabric of clouds.

Something had been eating at her as of late. A parasite had worked its way into her body through her toe, she suspected and was slowly picking away at her soul, and she felt her body trying to grow new soul bits, but the parasite, a slightly more orange version of blood with cucumber green eyes, was just a little too fast. And so it went, she was dying. She had made a pact with a being; a dementor. And not just any dementor but the uber-dementor. It was like meeting Dracula or Jesus or something, she supposed. It was the real deal.

Free us, it had said to her. It had both begged and commanded, and she had agreed, her being swept away in the thousands of years of torment that it passed onto her - the story of its life. It had been over a month since that encounter, each day that passed, heightening the clarity of purpose to her mind that her vow had made. You can't deny it forever. You feel the currents of magic on the slipstreams between here and there. You have to settle this once and for all, one way or another. If you try to fight it, you will surely lose. She knew these things; felt them deep within herself, just as she knew she was slowly being eaten alive by the dark magic that she had unleashed within her. You are not Tom Riddle; you do not know how to control this darkness within you. go and find yourself. But how could she leave Ron? She loved him, didn't she? It wouldn't be forever, she reasoned with herself. Her departure would only be temporary; just long enough to free the dementors from their curse and, if she were lucky, save herself from destruction. It's like a Darth Vader complex, or something, she mused, her heart lightening as she came to understand that she had little choice in the matter. It didn't hurt that she was secretly excited at the prospect of taking on this challenge; possibly one of the most complex and difficult tasks set to a scholar since Riddle's discovery and modification of the horcrux rituals.

Hermione packed her belongings silently in the burgeoning light of day, the grey shadows slowly taking on a blue flavour as they waxed into greater relief. Ron remained still and quiet on the modest bed they had secured at a muggle discount outlet, the familiar sight of his sprawled form inciting a twinge of guilt, which she promptly quashed. "I'm sorry," she said aloud in the dark, her voice sounding unnaturally loud. She wasn't even sure what she was sorry for, except that there seemed like so many things that needed reconciliation. I'm sorry for loving you, and for you loving me. I'm sorry I drank blood. I'm sorry Arthur didn't survive the attack on the Burrow. Most of all, I'm sorry I need to leave you and that it will cause you pain, and that it will be at a time when you need to be your strongest. For now, you will stand alone against the rising dark, just as Britain stood when bombs rained down on British soil; when Hitler stood at her gates, the full wrath of his forces behind him. Hermione took what few belongings she needed and left for dark country.

When Ron awoke, he knew immediately that something was wrong. The scent of solitude seemed to pervade the tiny apartment that he and Hermione had nicked near the entrance to Diagon Alley. Before completing a sweep of the apartment, he knew she had left. For what reason he could not discern, though his suspicions were confirmed when he found a painfully brief note stuck to the refrigerator door via a muggle contraption known as a magnet:

Dear Ron,

I don't know any good way to say this. I am leaving for an indefinite period of time. I do not know when I'll return. I cannot give you a reason for my sudden departure, though I want you to know it hurts me greatly to have to do this. I want you to know that I didn't have much of a choice, but that I started the ball rolling on certain events and I must now see them through to their conclusion. Please understand that if I could stay with you, I would. Believe in that one thing, and please believe me that if it's at all within my power to return, I will do that and beg your forgiveness for leaving you.

Forever loving you,

HG

Without realizing it, Ron balled his hand into a fist, crumpling the note into a compact, wrinkled white ball. He stared unseeingly into the microwave oven, unable to do anything but exist amidst the torrent of agonizing emotions that now threatened to drown him. He had understood that, somewhere between him getting captured by Wormtail and Hermione rescuing him from Parkinson Manor, things had changed. Things had changed for the worse; a wedge had formed between them, some sort of indescribable barrier that didn't seem to be the fault of either of them, but which nevertheless was there. He had even asked her about it from time to time, and had resolved to accept her assurances. he had thought he had hallucinated the flashes of amber and green light during the duel between the Colonel and Hermione, or at least was proud that she was dodging so many of them. But now, he knew better. She was dark. Little miss moral Hermione was dark. It hadn't been a curse of the Colonel's that they had taken painstaking efforts to undo after that battle at Malfoy Manor. Certainly Ron was curious as to what kind of curse could have done that to her wand and her wand arm, and he should have been suspicious right then and there for she had deflected his inquiries swiftly - too swiftly for she herself should have been more curious.

Worse yet, Ron knew he still loved her and probably would continue to do so for a long time. He only hoped that when she came back, it would not be as a Dark witch, but as simply Hermione. He could only hope for that now and move on to his more immediate problems. He needed a new wand. He couldn't even remember when his had been destroyed, but he was running on someone else's - some Death Eater's who he had managed to incapacitate - well, kill, actually - and then rob before making a break for it at the King's Cross massacre. It had been the fifth Death Eater's wand he had pilfered and used in the last five weeks. He and Hermione had fled under the onslaught of the Colonel and had managed to hide underneath one of the train cars before they discovered that it was actually being fired up, which they promptly decided to get onto, assuming that it was still going to be heading towards Hogwarts. How wrong they had been.

Ron shook himself from the recent memory and, shoving thoughts of Hermione to the back of his mind, he proceeded to rally his things and head to Olivander's. It was time for him to get a real wand, amongst other things.

Olivander had taken to hiding in a seedy part of town. Ron supposed he was trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible, though it didn't help that he had magical wards and various items thrown haphazardly about. They would only serve to attract unwanted attention from any real threats. No, he should have chosen a high density environment that was reasonably safe, so that he would have as little occasion to use his wand as possible. Ron doubted he and Hermione would have survived as long as they had if at least one of them weren't adept in the ways of muggles.

Ron knocked tentatively on Olivander's front door and waited for an interminable period of time as the wards checked him over. Ron rolled his eyes at the sheer uselessness of these precautions. Death Eaters would disable them in a matter of moments. All they would do is give Olivander a few moments to flee, assuming he was on guard. Death Eaters could always use polyjuice, which was effective in tricking these kinds of wards anyway. However, Ron resolved not to say anything, for if it gave the old man some peace of mind, well, he wasn't going to ruin that for him.

Eventually, Ron was permitted inside and immediately made a quick assessment of his surroundings. One small window, room cluttered with objects of all kinds. Wands in the making were strewn about every which way. Ron inwardly grimaced. Right, he thought, because going around buying wand parts in bulk is the way to keep a low profile. He shrugged. Olivander wasn't his problem anymore, and, frankly, he was thankful he was going to at least be able to get a wand. The old man probably just needs to feel useful or keep his mind occupied, Ron thought.

After a moment, Mr. Olivander appeared from what Ron assumed was his bedroom. "Ah, Mr. Weasley," he said in a falsely cheery voice, dark bags under his eyes belying his state of being. "How may I help you today?"

"I could do with a wand," Ron said.

"Of course, of course," Olivander said. "In truth, I've been expecting you. I was aware that you were not using your wand when you rescued me from that place. I realized it was only a matter of time before you, and, maybe others, would come for assistance. After all, you will never achieve as good results with another wizard's wand."

Ron nodded. "Exactly. I could do with a couple of spares, too. I've learned the hard way the uses a wand can have as a sacrificial lamb when you're getting desperate."

"Of course, of course," Olivander repeated. "As I've always said, the wand chooses the wizard. The more you take care of it, and the longer it is in your service, the greater a force it can be when defending you. It was said that Merlin's wand cast a spell all on its own to free him when he was in a tight spot."

"So, what can you offer me? I've only five galleons with me so nothing fancy, please."

"Nonsense," Olivander responded, busying himself with rummaging through the various wands on the floor and the shelves. "I will not take your money, Mr. Weasley. If it weren't for you, I would still be a prisoner of You-Know-Who. No, no, I won't take any more than I would take Ms. Grainger's. To you both I am eternally in debt. I never realized what power I and my family has held in the wizarding world since 382 B.C. Only when it was turned to the dark arts did I become aware of how important I could be in this war. No, I won't sit idly by and wait for that monster to ruin everything that we've worked for. This will be how I can help. If you or any of your soldiers is in need of a wand, come to me and you'll have my finest at your disposal at no cost." Olivander stopped what he was doing and looked hard into Ron's eyes. "I mean it. If He wins, there will be nothing left for any of us. He is simply a madman."

Ron nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Olivander."

Now," he said, brightening up. "Onto business, as they say." He brought forward a single wand, which he held reverently in both his hands. "I'm afraid I do not have any of the fancy trimmings that come with it, like wand polishing kits or a decorative box in which to stow it. Regardless, I trust you'll find this wand to be superlatively fit for your purposes. It is my finest wand. it has been fitted for a Gryffindor of the purest heart. Godric himself would have been proud to use this wand. Thirteen inches, yew, Griffin feather wrapped in a unicorn hair. This is the first dual core wand made in over three hundred years. You will find that this wand will be the bane of any dark arts practitioner." Olivander's normally creepy moon-like eyes took on a new intensity, and Ron got the distinct feeling that he was fantasizing about getting revenge on his tormentors.

"Er, well, thank you," Ron said, gingerly taking the wand from the wandmaker's aged hands. In truth, Ron's old wand, the one he had been using since second year was a second-hand wand his parents had picked up at a garage sale. It had never worked as well as it should have, though by sixth year it had warmed up to him enough that he didn't make a fool of himself every time he issued a spell. For the first time in his life, Ron felt that inexplicable warmth that pervaded every witch and wizard when they found their true wand. A stream of pure white sparks shot out of the tip like small bolts of lightning as he waved it smoothly about in the cramped space of Olivander's home office.

"Brilliant," Ron breathed, awestruck by the incredible feeling of connectedness and warmth he felt through his new wand.

Olivander looked pleased by his response, clapping his hands together and muttering under his breath, "Excellent, excellent. Never in all my years have I seen it..." He trailed off, again slipping into another place and time.

"What haven't you seen?" Ron asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Tell me, Mr. Weasley, do you know what significance the associated colours have for the four houses at Hogwarts?"

Ron shook his head. "Not a clue."

"The colours, it has been said, represent particular traits, and are evidenced of a person's character when he or she swishes their wand for the first time. It has been said that Rowena Ravenclaw spent her dissertation trying to understand this very phenomenon. Witches and wizards, after seeing their colours come out of a wand, had started to adopt those colours in the clothes they wore, as motifs for their living quarters and even in the jewels they chose for themselves and with which to adorn their weapons. They found over time that witches and wizards of like colours tended to think alike and band together, exhibiting similar characteristics. Eventually this aggregation became codified formally as the four houses, each of which was represented by a prominent witch or wizard who evoked the distinctive colours from their wands. Even today, I can predict with reasonable accuracy which house a student will end up in just from paying attention to the colour that comes from their wand when it selects them." Olivander paused, as if for effect.

"And?" Ron prompted, somewhat impatiently.

"Tell me, Mr. Weasley, of the four Houses at Hogwarts, which one sports white as one of its dominant colours?"

Ron considered the question for a moment. He knew Gryffindor's didn't, and he was well acquainted with the Slytherin colours, which were green and silver. Huffelpuffs had yellow in them, though he wasn't sure what else, and he thought Ravenclaw's had blue. Apart from that, he wasn't terribly sure, all things told. However, he knew there was a catch somewhere and was starting to bet that Olivander was asking a trick question. "Er, none of them?" he finally answered.

Olivander smiled his creepy smile, and clapped his hands together. "precisely."

"So what does that mean, exactly?"

"White is amongst one of the rarest colours to flow from a wand. Even more rare than black. It has been said that many of the Dark Lords that the centuries have spawned have issued black from their wands when they first picked it up. White on the other hand, hasn't been recorded in the last two millennia with one exception. Do you know who that is?"

Ron silently willed himself to be patient and merely responded, "No." But I'm sure you're going to tell me.

Reverently, and, in a whisper, Olivander said, "Merlin."

With that proclamation, Ron felt an immediate attack of light headedness. Does that mean what I think it means? he wondered. My God, now what the hell do I do?

"One of the things Merlin was famous for was his ability to tap into some of the purest light magic that exists. It is said that he called to arms a hundred patroni to fend a village from dementors. No witch or wizard since has been able to call forth more than a handful, the most numerous being Albus Dumbledore, who was reputed to have effected four patroni during the Grindelwald years. Even more importantly, there are other spells the likes of which have never been properly executed since Merlin himself. The knowledge of them has simply collected dust in the archives of the most prestigious museums in the world. I believe that Hogwarts may even carry such a scroll in its special collections section."

"Special collections?" Ron asked. "I've never heard of that."

Olivander laughed a reedy, raspy sort of sound. "Hogwarts is one of the oldest and most magically powerful buildings in England. There are parts of it that may never be known to students. Some of the foremost seminars and conferences take place there over the summertime. I remember they hosted the annual Wandmaker's Conference back in 1992. It was the sixth time it was ever held in Britain this past century, and the sixteenth time it was held at Hogwarts in the last five."

"Do you know of any such spells?" Ron asked.

Olivander smiled. "That is a very good question. As a wandmaker, I have made it my business to know a great deal about magic, and have engaged in scholarly aims. Two years ago, I happened upon an article regarding one such spell. I remember the author, Lord Byron, if memory serves me correctly, was arguing over the rather contentious issue of whether or not there is a shield that can block all offensive magic. As you may be aware, it is reported that the unforgiveables are unblockable. This, of course, is a simple fiction designed to illustrate some of the more pragmatic qualities of the three curses. It is possible to summon an object to intervene in the flight path of the cruciatus. If one is skilled enough, one can do the same for the killing curse, though few are reckless enough to attempt it. Similarly, one can conjure solid objects to block the killing curse, though this is even more foolhardy than summoning an existing one."

"Why is that?' Ron asked, now intrigued. He had never taken to magical theory, but ever since the duel with Narcissa, wherein he had seen her deflect the cruciatus with a magical shield, Ron had continued to wonder about those very large and critical holes in his magical education.

"Why is it reckless?" Olivander asked, and, when seeing Ron nod, continued. "The way in which the unforgiveables work is different from other curses. While most conventional curses operate by inflicting physical wounds, the former three of which we speak operate by connecting to you through your magic, and thereby accessing your very soul. When you summon an object, you connect yourself to it through your magic. The link you share with it can be traced via the unforgiveables to your body, thereby making it difficult to use magic to defend yourself. Of course, you could always hurl an object manually in the way of the incoming spell, or you could simply try to dodge it. Summoning objects can work in select cases, though it requires a skilled wizard to execute the task. This is because you have to disconnect yourself from the object before it comes into contact with the curse in question. This is problematic, because, in addition to the fact that disconnecting yourself in mid-spell requires masterful fluency in magic generally, it also means that you will lose control of the object before it hits the curse. This adds an extra dimension to the task. You would need very good coordination in terms of how you apply speed and direction to the summoned object so that it manages to continue along its course in a timely fashion in order to intercept the curse."

"Doesn't sound very likely, does it?" Ron asked.

"No, it isn't. You could of course, simply conjure an object to absorb the spell, but most wizards will never command such skill with magic so as to do it reliably. The ability to stabilize a conjured object so that it remains after you disconnect is the difference between temporary and permanent conjuration. Similar principles apply to transfiguration, though it is not nearly as difficult for witches and wizards. Presumably, a shield designed to deflect soul magic could block the curses. This was the subject of Lord Byron's article, for, according to one of the many scrolls on Merlin, there is reputed to be such a shield. Lord Byron has argued that magics that manipulate the soul and the body are mutually exclusive and that such a soul shield, if it were able to block the unforgiveables based on repelling the spell's magical essence, then it is unlikely that it would be able to be used to deflect other curses of the darker variety that are used to damage a person physically. Like the bone shattering curse, for example."

Ron was feeling suitably impressed. He wondered what else he could learn from the aged wizard. "So tell me, what is this spell?"

"Ah, yes, it's name. It is known as the Aegis Shield."

"How do I get it to work?"

Olivander laughed again. "I hardly think I am the right person to instruct you, Mr. Weasley. No, no, I doubt there's more than three or four people in all of Britain who could give you any idea. My only suggestion would be for you to practice the Patronus Charm and try to identify any distinctive differences between casting it and casting other spells of the ordinary variety. The only thing I could really add, and it is from personal experience, is that the patronus Charm tends to leave one feeling rather refreshed, which is unique in and of itself. Most spells tend to drain a person of their energy. Magic that operates on the soul does the opposite. Indeed, even the Unforgiveables create a sense of euphoria in the caster, though I am told it is short-lived and gives rise to addiction."

Ron finished his dealings with Mr. Olivander and left the apartment shortly thereafter. He had been given much to think about, and realized that he needed help, whether it be from books or from others. He and Hermione had taken a quick spin by Grimmauld Place, only to have discovered that the Fidelius that had once hidden it had been taken down - probably upon Dumbledore's death, and so they didn't dare chance going inside, lest Death Eaters had usurped it. Ron and Hermione had intended to slip onto the Hogwarts Express on the first of September in order to try and reach their Head of House. They had figured that at least she would have been able to give them some instructions on how to proceed. However, that had quickly been derailed as Voldemort had taken control of the train. And now, having survived five major encounters with Death Eaters over the past five weeks, often in enemy territory, Ron suddenly felt like he were at a loss. it was as though there was no direction for him to go; no sign post or adult telling him what his next steps had to be. It had all seemed rather clear when they had come across information on Olivander's whereabouts to simply go after him and bust him out. He supposed that neither he nor Hermione regarded their lives as anything special in the grand scheme of things. They were expendable and so neither thought much about their own safety - at least not in any terms greater than any ordinary person would think of their mortality. And with a war on, they had both been dedicated to the work Dumbledore had started. The work they knew they were bound to get involved in for one reason or another.

Ron was simply walking down the cracked cobblestone steps, absently listening to the sound of music wafting out from open windows, inhaling the noxious odour of car exhaust on the otherwise desolate asphalt turf. Kids decked out in leather and metal pushed aggressively past him, a girl among them giving him a speculative look, as if to ask, "Who the hell are you?"

Ron simply shrugged it off, hardly concerned about it. He discovered, to his surprise, that he both pitied and envied the muggles around him. They lived their lives in the absence of a guerilla war and so were free from the mental and physical torments that such things brought to the people who suffered through them. Ron had no illusions that he would have nightmares for years to come if he managed to survive the onslaught. Still though, he wasn't sure he would want to trade it for a life of simple luxuries, for he knew that, if his turn came to indulge in grease packed bags of fish and chips and sleeping in on Monday mornings and playing Quidditch in the afternoon or simply waiting for someone else to come by and drop off money or food or whatever, he would want to know that his reprieve was well-deserved. Not that any of those thoughts mattered now, he thought, grimly. What war is there left to fight? He was starting to realize with growing dismay that the Dark Lord didn't seem to have any opposition. Who was going to stand against him now? The aurors? He'd already proven that he could take any one of them down, if for no other reason then by the fact that he had waltzed into Amelia Bones's home and killed her, despite her being an exceptionally gifted witch. Ron doubted if the old transfiguration professor was up to the task. Moody, maybe? He was a soldier, not a leader. Tonks? Remus? Shacklebolt? Scrimgeour? The Dark Lord knows them all. he knows them intimately and in ways they don't even know themselves. Hell, he even knew Dumbledore. He will wait them out, push their buttons and draw them into a web and crush them. There's nothing they can do to fool him, to trick him, to outsmart him. It will take something else. Ron was confident that the Dark Lord had taken innumerable steps to secure his location. He had only briefly glimpsed at the inconceivable magic that He had used to guard his fortress. To guard Technoparc, the dreaded city of despair. Only through his overconfidence will we bring him down, Ron realized, and that thought, he knew, was decidedly glum. the stupidest thing you could ever do in chess was sit around making moves waiting for your opponent to screw up. It was a fool's game to play like that and it only worked if you could lull your opponent into a false sense of security.

In all likelihood, the Dark Lord was growing more secure as time passed. The only problem was that the security he was creating for himself was very real. He and Hermione had managed to do some very skillful work surviving and evading Death Eaters right under their own noses, and, of course, managing to rescue Olivander. The problem was that, for all the blows they had delivered, it was all for naught. None of it was permanent. The Dark Lord would simply regrow his forces, rebuild the destroyed property should he need to. He was infinitely patient, if nothing else, and that alone made him extremely dangerous. Ron tended to view their battles as training exercises for himself and Hermione. They had grown a lot in the last five weeks, it seemed. While Ron didn't exactly regard his time under the cruciatus as a cherished memory, he did recognize the importance it played in forcing him to acknowledge certain facts, and to accept and make decisions in light of them. Already, he could feel the beginnings of a plan taking shape in his mind. If what Olivander said was true, then he had some sort of secret weapon he could use to turn the tables in a duel. The problem was, no matter how powerful he got, he was still just one person. Besides, from what he understood about pure light magic, it really didn't have the kind of bite to it that dark magic had. Specifically, he doubted he could use it to actually kill anything, which was fine by him. However, it did suggest that he wasn't going to find an easy answer in the form of a single spell. No, he couldn't do it alone. He supposed he'd always expected Harry to be the one to lead, and now that he'd gone AWOL without a trace, there didn't seem to be anyone left to do it. Worse yet, Ron knew that it really didn't matter if he went around picking off one Death Eater after the next. It would hardly matter to the Dark Lord, who would simply rebuild his forces over time. No, if he was going to go after the Death Eaters, he was going to do it properly and make sure that they delivered deathblow after deathblow. They would strike in ways in which the Dark Lord would never recover. That was how you won at chess; it was how you won at war. You kept taking and taking, one square at a time, one pawn, one hill, one valley, until you cut off all lines of communication, all access to resources, all places to move. And then, checkmate. And in order to do that, Ron was going to need soldiers. Lots of them. The kind of soldiers he could trust with his life; ones who were loyal and properly trained in combat. He would need spies and researchers and a constant supply of innovation, for the war against Death Eaters would not be won out in the open on the fields of farmers. No, it would be waged in secret, deep in the urban jungles of society, at night in the dark whilst his enemies slept. Each strike would be carefully arranged to achieve maximum strategic and tactical precision. If all went well, the Dark Lord would never even know his pawns were being cut down like grass, all the while unaware. Yes, Ron thought, the glint of battle in his eyes as he stared off into the distance, a giant dump truck on wheels trundling by and kicking up sand and dust into the autumn sunshine, all the while Ron standing oblivious. Yes, he thought. He would need a cadre of elite soldiers. A division of special infantry troops that he could command and send to execute sensitive missions with uncanny accuracy. Yes, he would need men and women alike. He would, quite frankly, need an army.

Neville Longbottom was sitting in a really big, poofy chair. It was his favourite chair, as a matter of fact, and he often spent long hours in the day sitting quite comfortably in it and doing his schoolwork, while he was there over the summer and Christmas breaks. It was a bright canary yellow, which had the power to blind anyone if they stared at it too long, and he rather liked it that way. Anybody with any kind of fashion sense, would have regarded the gaudy thing as a design nightmare, even without the wings on its back or the lone sky-blue polka dot on the seat cushion. It wasn't that Neville lacked fashion sense so much as it was simply that it was his. he had picked it out when he was four years old, though his memory of the event was a bit fuzzy. His grandmother had taken him out of the manor for the first time since she had gotten custody of him, and had, in preparation, lathered him in every single kind of pediatric protective charm known to the magical world, including everything from extra-sensitive magical sunscreen to full-body cushioning charms. Undoubtedly it was very comfortable, though it clashed horribly with everything else in Longbottom Manor, which was generally designed to be austere, much like Mrs. Augusta Longbottom herself.

Neville was startled out of his musings by the tell-tale ringing of an incoming floo call. He made a customary check into the polished mirror surface to see who it was that was calling. Since Dumbledore's death, they had upgraded their floo security to keep people from barging in. Personally, Neville suspected that it would do very little to actually stop skilled Death Eaters, but he supposed that if it made his Gran happy, he was not going to say anything ill of it. Scrambling onto the buffed hardwood floors to get a better look at the individual, Neville was surprised to see that it was not really a person at all, but a single sheet of paper. Neville ran it through the jinx and curse scanning wards, and, when seeing that it came out clear, he made a series of taps on the surface of the mirror that was used to check the individuals on the other end of the floo line. The mirror glowed blue briefly before emitting a short hissing sound that signalled the lowering of the wards. From there, he simply waited until a sheet of parchment fluttered out of the flaring emerald flames. he mused at the irony of watching paper saunter nonchalantly through that which was meant to burn it. Looking down at the paper and reading through its contents, his eyes bulged for a moment in surprise, then consternation, and, finally, hardened resolve. So it was, the first soldier' of the Phoenix Army was called to serve.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I don't own any of it.

Chapter Eleven

The Muggle and the Man

Ginny Weasley was not having a good year. It all started with that damnable Harry Potter, and all his stupid Gryffindor heroics. First he had to go and make her fall in love with him all over again - like it wasn't bad enough the first time, only to demand of her the fortitude to break it off while he goes off on some fool crusade against You-Know-Who, leaving the rest of them to wallow in uncertainty. Then there was all that hoopla with the stupid marriage, like a war wasn't going on right outside their doorstep, and worse yet, she had been conscripted to find out just how to be a good little housewife, which seemed to consist of alternating between randomly dusting glassware from Honest Ed's and suffering the presence of Bill and Fleur in all their googly-eyed glory. Blech.

And as if things couldn't get any worse, the Weasley ancestral home got obliterated by Death Eaters not a month later, no doubt having used the opportunity that the wedding presented to slip in a Trojan horse right under their noses. God only knew where the hell her family was. Were they alive? Dead? Captured? Amnesiacs? For her own part, she had wandered aimlessly after the attack, accidentally getting lost in muggle London, and, after a time of aimlessness, ended up getting hit by a car and falling comatose in a hospital. Somewhere thereafter, she found herself locked in a muggle mansion with a senile eccentric billionaire and an apparently mad housemaid with a penchant for holding the infirmed in captivity.

Hang it all, she thought bitterly. Here I am, with no clue how to get out, my wand stripped from me - not that it would have done me much good, except for getting expelled. Thing's about as useful as a dead bloody cat. At least until I'm 17. Not that it's looking like I'll live to see that day. Who would've thought the most pressing issue in my life would be trying to figure out what Prozac and sodium pentathol are. Casually, Ginny began hurling her padded pink mallet at the padded walls, idly wondering if it were possible to beat a person to death with a pillow. Only if it were loaded with steel ball bearings, she decided, sighing in an exaggerated fashion and throwing herself onto her bed. The best she could figure, it was mid-October. And that was seriously not a good thing. The whole of the wizarding world could have been taken over by now, and she would be none the wiser, being holed up in her plush prison for Gods only knew what nefarious purpose. Damn it all to hell.

A paper wrapped bag of food appeared through a cat flap on the door, thudding softly against the luxurious pale blue carpet as it was let go by the aged hand that presented it. Ginny could tell from the quality of the sound it made that she was getting a tuna sandwich and a bottle of Evian water. Not to mention a bag of BBQ flavoured crisps. Oh Joy. Resignedly, Ginny pulled herself over to the door, snatched up the food and returned to the bed to devour it and then take her post-lunch hour nap.

Angela Hernandez had been a nurse for over thirty years, and she had seen many things. She had grown up in a small Mexican community in southern California, and had been taught from an early age to have a healthy respect for the spirits of the dead. Her steadfast belief in the supernatural had, from time to time, allowed her to see glimpses into some of the peculiar phenomena that most muggles regard as tricks of the light or products of an overworked mind. As such, she had been one of the rare muggles in the world to have muddled her way into one of the magical communities in the heart of San Francisco. On that trip, which may or may not have been fated by the Gods, she had stumbled into a shop specializing in Divination, a subject which some people in the world loathed profoundly. There, she happened upon an I-Ching, which told her to go to London and "wait for the signs". Naturally, Angela left, leaving aside her budding naturopathic healing clinic and opting for the next best form of employment she could get her hands on - housecleaning. She fell in step with Richard Gorbikki, a neurosurgeon that mindfully invested his hard earned savings in a TV broadcasting station that swiftly paid him back in millions, after which he found himself on the fast track to becoming supremely rich. Unfortunately, his life as a neurosurgeon seemed to have taken its toll on his mind, because he became prone to extreme fits of absent-mindedness, necessitating the use of a personal assistant. This is how Angela came to be in his service, though not exclusively. She retained a graveyard shift at a hotel cleaning bedrooms, whereupon, one chilly wet day in late September in 1984, she discovered a peculiar thing. A naked young man lay asleep on the sheets, most of his possessions missing, it seemed, including any form of identification. The only thing of note that seemed at all worthwhile was a small ten inch wooden rod with a most peculiar ornament upon its tip. Angela couldn't say one way or the other what the stick meant or did, but she knew for certain that she had seen such a thing before - long ago back in California on that same day where the I-Ching in a magical Divination shop impelled her to switch continents. Understanding this to be the sign which she had been waiting five long years for, Angela did the only thing she could think of. she kidnapped the strange man, wrapping his unusually cold body in a bed sheet, and taking him to Richard's mansion. It was clear the stranger wasn't going to be waking up soon, so Angela slowly coaxed her senile employer into taking her on full-time and letting her stay with him in his home to tend to his needs around the clock. More importantly, she managed to ward him off from one particular room in the house, and also make certain alterations that would help keep her in control of things.

There, she waited, for nearly thirteen years for something to happen. Eventually, it did, though it wasn't quite the momentous occasion that she had been hoping for. No, it wasn't the word of God, or anything else so fantastic. It wasn't the answer to the mysteries of the universe, the meaning of life, the keys to another world. It wasn't even a winning lottery ticket. It was just the stupid ramblings of a crazy man. As it were, the comatose prisoner woke up, curiously enough, on the same day that Harry dived into another world. And what did he start doing when he came to? The answer to that question could be summed up in a single word: babbling. He babbled. Only a little bit at first, and then a little more and more as time went on. Soon, he was full on babbling away to himself, twitching every once in a while, crying, weeping, laughing throwing his arms about hysterically in wild gesticulations. For the first time in Angela's life, she was at a loss. What the hell had she been waiting and doing all this time? Why the hell did she throw away her chance at a life with a husband and kids and a dog and a minivan with a bungalow in the suburbs, possibly even Camarillo? And, why of all things, did she leave warm, sunny California to come to a dank, chronically wet, frigid little island full of people who talked like they had pickles up their asses? Why, indeed.

Being completely at a loss, Angela did the only thing she could think of - she did nothing at all. She simply kept the madman locked up for fear of what he might do or say if he escaped, and began feeding food to him through a cat flap that she installed on his door. It wasn't until a month later, where, through a confluence of random events, Angela had happened upon a girl with the most vibrant red hair lying comatose in a hospital bed not ten minutes from where she lived. More importantly, the girl had no identifying information on her, and she had in her possession a familiar looking stick of wood. Throwing caution to the wind, Angela pulled another Houdini-esque maneuver with the girl and brought her to the mansion. Batting aside the part of her that was running around screaming in panicked horror at the prospect of having to deal with now two hostages, Angela set her up in another room, carefully installing locks and a cat-flap for when she too awoke. From then on, Angela simply prayed each night that the girl would not be insane like the man, and that she could get some answers for all her troubles. Doing the work of God was no easy task.

It was the seventh day of Ginny's captivity, or at least the seventh day in which she had been awake for it, and she was angry. And not just run off and cry angry, or throw a fit and scream at people angry, or even Weasley angry, oh no. Ginny had gone far beyond that on the rage meter and was clear into nuclear war class kill everything that moves rampage angry. As such, on the morning of the seventh day, she had managed to rouse herself bright and early, and, upon hearing the distinctive click that meant the door was being unlocked, she sprang out of bed in a blur of motion grabbing the nearest thing to her that remotely seemed like a weapon - the padded mallet. Ginny skidded to a halt alongside the wall just next to the door's edge, her matted red hair strewn about her face, her dark eyes glowing with a perverse bloodlust waiting to be unleashed, her hands wrapped around the smooth wood of the mallet's handle in a white-knuckled grip. If she weren't crazed with cabin fever from her incarceration, she might have noticed that the mallet's head had started to smoke, the wood conducting her pent up magical reserves into the soft fabric head, but then again, if she were not so deranged with her own anger, she probably would have thrown the mallet away, too embarrassed at the thought of using something akin to a stuffed teddy bear to beat an unknown opponent into submission. At any rate, she waited, her body coiled with tension, her legs parted and the mallet raised as though she were a baseball player raring to hit a home run.

The door came open silently and a middle-aged, pudgy Mexican woman with greying hair and a slight stoop stepped cautiously into the room, her eyes scanning about for her quarry. Before she had a chance to react, Ginny pounced, delivering a golf-like swing that sent the mallet into the woman's mid-section at a steeply upturned angle. The woman's facial expression transformed momentarily into one of baffled surprise before being occluded by a flash of pale blue light and puffs of purple smoke and orange fluff. Ginny was sent staggering back, the light forcing her to throw one hand up to her face in defense, her head turned away to shield herself from the worst of the unexpected blast.

Damn, she thought, what the Hell was that? Once she was certain that she was no longer in danger, gently padding herself down to make sure her limbs were all in tact, her own breathing the only sound in the deep silence, Ginny peered about to assess the mayhem. The woman who had been her captor was lying flat on her back, her mouth half open and drool spilling out the corner. The slack look of her face made Ginny think that maybe she were dead, but, after some more scrutiny, she could make out the steady rise and fall of the woman's chest. Hanging idly in one hand, Ginny raised the padded mallet for closer inspection, wondering if the mallet head had held a wand core. It's that or some crazy ass accidental magic, she thought. The head had exploded, leaving only a charred wooden tip with splintered bits hanging off by bits of wood, all the while issuing wisps of smoke. Damn, she thought, awed and secretly smiling to herself. You're so wicked, girl.

without sparing another moment or even questioning why it was that the Mexican woman had deigned to come into her room, Ginny beat a quick exit and made a b-line down the hall in the first direction she saw. Having no clue where she was or how far she would have to travel to escape her captors, Ginny simply decided to cover as much ground as humanly possible until she found the way out. She was confident that she was in the hands of muggles and so didn't have to worry about tripping any wards. The use of muggle foods like bottled water and plastic wrapped BBQ chips had alerted her to that fact.

Before long, Ginny found two things. First, she found a large, open stairwell that led into a large main hall, where the entrance to the premises was clearly visible, along with the walkway to the front edge of the property. The afternoon light was shining down across the fall grass and red leaves that were falling from the maple trees, and the feeling that open freedom was so close made her yearn for the fresh air, the breeze, the scent of grass and earth, for the unique sensations of cold and warmth that you could only get when you're outdoors. At the same time, Ginny found herself drawn to an observation that made her suddenly cringe inwardly in that mansion of rooms. It was a cat flap, exactly like hers, and it was on a door with a lock that was set from the outside. Ginny had no doubt that it was another makeshift prison just like her own. She shuddered to think what horrors may have befallen the various prisoners of these mad people. As such, she felt honour bound to help whatever hapless victim had had the misfortune to cross paths with the muggle psychos. Resolving to remain in continued peril, if for no other reason than to help her fellow POWs, Ginny steeled herself, took a quick glance around and then unlocked the door, throwing it wide open and taking a step back, just in case the person inside decided to pull a Ginny and attack the next person who walked through the doorway.

"Hello?" Ginny called as softly as she could while still making sure whoever was inside could hear her. There was no answer, so she decided to continue talking before she stepped in. "Listen, I'm here to break you out. I just busted out myself. If you're there, show yourself, or I'm going to leave without you."

No response.

Suddenly, Ginny felt terribly unsure of herself. Was somebody even in there? Maybe it was truly a crazy person, or someone who really did deserve to be locked up? What if she was letting out some sort of mentally deranged Quasimodo who pranced around in his grandmother's panties rubbing peanut butter all over himself going, "Ooh, ahh!" and boiling people's fat in an ill-fated attempt to acquire the ability to fly? Get a grip on yourself, Weasley, she thought. What if the person's tied up or unconscious? But then again, what could you do to help an unconscious person, hmm? It would be better if you went and got a wand and returned here armed. Except that it could take days before you found yourself in the wizarding world, and even then you're broke and have no resources, and, in case you've forgotten, Olivander's disappeared, so there's hardly even a place to get a wand, except maybe Nocturne Alley, and you seriously don't want to go there, all young and pretty and unarmed, even if there wasn't a death sentence on your head. Besides, your captors will most likely relocate themselves and take with them all evidence of their evilness, and they'll do it all muggle style so you'll have no way to find them.

Deciding she'd better step inside, Ginny did so, peering about for a human body or signs of life and/or violence of any kind. The room, she noted, was about the same size as hers, with the same large windows overlooking an enormous garden from the same high vantage point, making it impossible to jump to the cement deck below. The flush of a toilet from the en suite drew her attention, causing her to whip her head about at the closed door, where she could now hear shuffling movement. "Hello?" she called again, hoping she could maybe get some sort of coherent response before she came face to face with the stranger.

Instead, her introduction was met with an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the use of the tap and the rustle of a towel as the mysterious person dried their hands. Finally, Ginny heard the click of the door unlocking and then swinging open, a faint breeze brushing her face. Standing in the doorway was none other than-

"Sirius," Ginny breathed in a whisper, the sight of him stripping her of all her strength. She felt her knees grow week, looking into the man's intense blue eyes, the hard edge of his jaw, his black hair that hung straight and neat and which was elegantly tucked behind his ears. Ginny took a step backward, the stranger eyeing her curiously like she were a new and exceptionally beautiful strain of butterfly. But it can't be, her mind argued desperately. It's not him. He's too young, and his hair hasn't taken on that constant thin and worn look compliments of Azkaban. And there aren't those constantly drawn lines and sallowed skin and - and - but her mind refused to listen to those arguments, because she had seen on more than one occasion, often in Harry's presence, but also sometimes when the two of them had come together to talk privately, that youthfulness, that energy and vibrance that had characterized Sirius's young adult life, often when he was truly happy, when he laughed and was able to forget briefly about those dark days in prison. "You're not Sirius," she said firmly, her eyes narrowing, that faint trace of her Slytherin side that had been passed on to her by Tom in her first year coming to the forefront of her mind and asserting itself. "Who are you?"

"Sirius," the man said, cocking his head and staring in the direction of the window, the light brushing away all the shadows from his face, bathing him in a diffuse glow that made him both beautiful and handsome. Ginny's heart stirred a little, and she felt that peculiar nervousness that she had always gotten in Sirius's presence. It had been her infatuation with the rugged Marauder that had freed her from her former crush on the Boy-Who-Lived, that knowledge that you could still be carefree and full of energy no matter what life threw at you, that relentless charisma that Sirius had had made Ginny feel like there was nothing in the world she couldn't do, or overcome. Without realizing it, he had inadvertently healed deep and internal scars that no one else could or bothered to see. He had saved her amidst those dark days in Grimmauld Place, watching Harry brood, and Ron and Hermione bicker, Ginny and Sirius had shared moments of collective grief and solace. "I remember that name," he said, his expression turning pensive. "Sirius Black."

Ginny's mouth went dry at the stranger's proclamation. He knew Sirius Black, and that meant that he was most likely a wizard. Don't be ridiculous, she admonished. Sirius Black's name and photo were plastered all over the muggle news for nearly a year, which means that just about everyone in London knows the name Sirius black. It doesn't mean anything.

Ginny would have been content enough with her assessment, but the stranger's next statement wiped away any doubt that he knew of the wizarding world. He turned to her and said, "Genevra?"

Ginny visibly paled at this. "H-How do you know me?" she practically squeaked. "Who are you?"

She had enough presence of mind to notice that he had a great deal of difficulty coming up with things to say, as though he were trying to spy something from a great distance. Finally, he spoke, "I was there on your first birthday," he finally said, turning away from the carpet and looking directly at her, the same expression of concentration still on his face. "I don't remember why I went there. I think maybe it was to see your brother. William, wasn't it?"

Ginny nodded.

"I remember your parents were very happy. Of course they would have been. The Dark Lord had fallen, and the wizarding world was still drunk with relief."

It took Ginny a few seconds to understand what was peculiar about his last statement, but eventually it came to her, and the realization filled her with an entirely new terror. Of all the beings she had expected to run into when crossing the threshold into this room, whether it be lunatics or crazy people or hunchbacks, the last thing she had thought she would encounter was a Death Eater. Only Death Eaters and those sympathetic to them call him the Dark Lord, she remembered Harry once saying. Alarm bells began going off in her head. Red alert, captain! We're under heavy fire! Don't panic, she thought, don't panic, whatever you do. Just stay calm and take a nice deep breath. Back away slowly, don't make eye contact, they smell fear.

"Er, well, it was nice meeting you," Ginny began uncertainly. And then, as if this would help her to escape, she added, "I'd maybe just best be on my way. You know, things to do, people to see, places to go and all that." That's it, she thought, the first thing I'm doing when I survive this is learning how to apparate, Ministry be damned.

"May I ask what it is you're doing here?" he inquired.

"Er, well, that's a bit of a funny story, really," Ginny said, letting out a nervous chuckle. "Would you believe me if I said I was just passing through?"

The stranger quirked an eyebrow. "You thought I was Sirius."

"Did I?" she asked, wincing inwardly at her lame attempt to feign ignorance. "Silly me, It must have been an accident."

"I wonder how you could know of him since he was sent to prison shortly after you were born."

"Right," she said, her mind racing through every possible scenario that could explain how she knew what he looked like, and happening upon a particularly good one she used it. "His picture was plastered all over Hogsmeade in my second year. Not to mention he broke into Gryffindor Tower. Kind of hard to forget, really."

The stranger looked surprised for a moment before saying, "Personally, I never believed that he did it,"

"Well, of course you wouldn't," she said icily, "You're a bleeding Death Eater. You would know who did, wouldn't you?"

He smiled a cold, mirthless smile, through which Ginny could see an unrestrained bitterness in his eyes. A bitterness which promptly morphed into sadness. "Yes, I am. It's not exactly a life one can escape, is it, Genevra?"

It was only then, with Ginny trying to understand who this stranger was that she realized there was something decidedly odd about him. he looked to be in his early twenties, yet he came by looking for Charlie in 1981, or so he claimed. If her estimate of his age were correct, he couldn't have been more than ten years old at the most, and he certainly would not have been marked as a Death Eater. Yet, if he had been marked in the last year, surely he would have known about Sirius's escape and his subsequent involvement in the Order of the Phoenix. Yet, when he spoke, he did so as if he thought that Sirius were still in prison. Having no answers and only questions, she asked finally, "Who are you? What's your name?"

He gave her that same sad smile before answering. "I am Regulus, of course. Regulus Black."

Ginny supposed that she should have been surprised or incredulous by the proclamation, but she found that her disbelief had been temporarily suspended by the confluence of circumstances that had managed to bring her to where she was. Still, she said in a half-hearted way, "That's not possible. You're too young. Not to mention that Regulus was killed. By You-Know-Who, no less."

"Regulus nodded. "Of course, of course." He walked over to the bed and took a seat, and Ginny, feeling the burnout from the receding adrenalin, neatly collapsed her body into the lotus position on the carpeted floor, looking up at his mesmerizing blue eyes that were so familiar, and waiting for him to tell his tale.

"As you may have known, I joined the Death Eaters immediately upon graduation from Hogwarts and began doing the Dark Lord's work. I took very easily to the dark arts, having been schooled in them from an early age by my family. I had a healthy respect for the subject and was able to exercise good control over it. Mind you, no one ever really controls magic. At least not completely. The more heavily you use dark magic, the more it infiltrates your mind, your body and your soul. The trick is to not use it so much that you become consumed. I doubt there's a person alive who has the mastery of it that the Dark Lord has. He has let it encroach upon his entire body, and yet he maintains his brilliance, his superior cognitive faculties. I do remember that he was prone to giving into his baser urges, no doubt a bi-product of all his transformations, but he had the good sense not to be capricious in his punishment of his servants. No, he had us bring in a supply of muggles and muggle-borns for that purpose, though I remember it only served him a limited degree of pleasure. That is why he often went to execute raids personally. The hunt satiated his desires more than the torture itself. It was like foreplay to him and a necessary ritual before the torture and the killing."

"Torture and killings which you participated in."

Regulus raised his hands in supplication. "I am not asking for forgiveness, Genevra. I would not waste your time. However, I am not a threat to you, and I certainly will never practice the dark arts, even though my knowledge of it is sound. No, I have renounced that life long ago. Before the Dark Lord's fall, in fact. I did not understand the full implications of the Dark Mark, you see, and so I had grown careless in my deception. I suppose he would have found out sooner or later, since my skill at occlumancy was mediocre at best."

"I assumed he would have checked everybody before permitting them into the fold."

Regulus shook his head. "There was no need. He maintains an intricate web of truths and deceptions amongst his followers. I doubt that any single person knows everything there is to know. I can say that it was only through fortune that I discovered his most prized ritual. One he created personally, and which I eventually discovered to be called the horcrux ritual. It is the primary vehicle through which he maintains his connection to the mortal world, and only through undoing it will we have a chance to truly stop him."

"What is it?" Ginny asked, now curious.

"It may be safer for you not to know. Certainly the Dark Lord doesn't appreciate people finding out about it. Bellatrix was the only one of his servants he trusted with the knowledge, and it was only by virtue of the fact that she mentioned it while drunk and under the effects of a mild truth serum at my nineteenth birthday party. By then, I knew I was getting out of the Death Eater business and was probing for information on how to remove the Dark Mark. I made the error of saying the Dark Lord's name, which turned out to have grievous consequences."

"What do you mean?"

"Have you ever wondered why people say You-Know-Who?"

"I always thought it was just an irrational fear. At least, that's what Harry and Hermione say, and Professor Dumbledore too, I think."

Regulus shook his head. "No, it was one of the Dark Lord's most skillful enchantments. You see, his name isn't his birth name. It is a name he created formally during adulthood. Names, Genevra, can have a great deal of power. A powerful, skilled witch or wizard with a great deal of knowledge and enough cunning and ambition can do great and terrible things. Have you ever heard of the Fidelius Charm?"

Ginny nodded.

"Impressive. It is an obscure charm to say the least. It is extremely powerful. You are probably already aware that it can be used to strip knowledge from the minds of people everywhere, to not just hide a building, but to make it disappear and collapse both space and time around it, so that, for all intents and purposes, it simply does not exist. It has the power to let you have knowledge, but you force you to not give it up, even through legilimancy or truth serums. What kind of magic can do that? How can an enchantment work on words? It is extremely complex magic to say the least. Whether the Dark Lord found an existing spell or modified one for his purposes, I do not know, nor does it matter much at this point. What does matter is that he has woven magic into his very name - something I'm not sure he could have done with his given name. To say his new title can do a number of things. It can alert him to who has said it, when and where they are, assuming that the magic is not being blocked by intervening enchantments, like an unplottability charm or the Fidelius. If memory serves me correctly, I believe that the Dark Lord did weave into the enchantment a counter-charm for the imperturbable charm, so that it would not be sufficient to block him. In any case, I made the mistake of defiling his name, which signed my death warrant, as it alerted him to my true intentions. especially since, through the mark, he could glean a great deal more information. Fortunately, I am a Black and that still means something. I used my knowledge of the dark arts to curse myself when I realized my peril. I died for two hours, my body thrown into the garbage and left to rot. Eventually, my soul came back and I was revived."

"Whoa, hold on a second," Ginny said, holding up her hands to stop his story. "Are you telling me you survived the killing curse?"

Regulus nodded. "In a manner of speaking, yes."

"But that's ridiculous. You can't block it."

"I didn't block it though. I did something else. I used the exorcism spell to banish my soul from my body, so that when the curse hit, it had no effect."

"But that's..." Ginny wasn't quite sure how to say what it was she wanted to say. Could it be that easy to deflect the killing curse? Or at least, survive it? Wouldn't everyone do that if they knew their life was imminent?

"I know what you're thinking, and let me explain. it's not so simple. First of all, I was fortunate not to have had my body transfigured into glass and shattered with a reductor curse. Secondly, most people are actually caught unawares or at least don't have the time to set themselves up. Moreover, the exorcism curse when used on a human requires the aid of a potion. Finally, the curse has one serious drawback when it is used. Just like the killing curse, the magic intrinsic to one's body escapes, so that when the soul finally returns, you become a person who is completely devoid of magic. In effect, I am even less than a squib. I am as muggle as they come."

Ginny closed her eyes and let her mind race through all the implications of what Regulus was telling her. Ex-Death Eater turned muggle, self-inflicted curse, enchanted names. When she looked up at him, she simply asked, "So now what? How did you end up here?"

"Ah, well, that's quite the story, isn't it?" he said, smiling. "You can imagine that I wasn't the happiest about having my magic stripped from me. So, not wanting to live as a muggle, which, to a pureblood-obsessed pureblood like myself is tantamount to a death sentence, I went off in search of reacquiring my magic. I, of course, had no clue how to do this, but that wasn't going to deter me. I had some knowledge of blood alchemy, and I figured it could probably be done, even if there were a few consequences to my well-being. Anything would have been better than living as a muggle. I also developed a particularly strong dislike for the Dark Lord, as you might imagine, and, as such, decided I would kill two birds with one stone. I searched for one of his horcruxes, and, using a great deal of ingenuity and my muggle status, as well as quite a bit of knowledge gained through an interview with your brother Bill, who was the only person I knew with any kind of curse-breaking experience, even if he were only a novice, I set about securing the only horcrux I know of."

"I still don't know what a horcrux is," Ginny said.

Regulus sighed. "I suppose it doesn't matter, since the Dark Lord's gone anyway. or at least, gone enough for the time being, though I have no doubt he'll return. The Dark Lord cut his soul up like Sunday roast and bound the various pieces to key objects. he then hid them and protected them using numerous curses. He clearly didn't foresee any danger from a pure muggle with in-depth knowledge of the dark arts and magical theory. Some of his key protections were activated by the passage of a magical person - even a low level magical person like a squib. I was a unique case all around. As such, he never foresaw the need to guard against someone like me. All in all, I nabbed his precious little locket and took it away with me, leaving him a nasty note out of spite. I then began the tedious process of coaxing the soul out of the locket, hopefully to either subsume and acquire its magical abilities, or to revitalize, subdue and then experiment on. Unfortunately, it didn't quite work out that way. The stupid thing pretty much sapped my life force, possessed me for a little while, though I wasn't exactly clear on that point until I awoke, which was about a couple of months ago and then, as far as I can tell, corporealized and ran away with the locket and my things. Or so I understand."

Ginny felt an incredible chill run down her spine at Regulus's words, realizing that she too had been possessed by a horcrux, and only now understanding fully what her first year had been all about. She also came to realize that Harry must have known about these horcruxes and that it was this that he had gone in search of, and that he did so without ever bothering to tell her, not even considering the fact that the information might have helped her deal with her own demons. Don't think about that now, she decided, taking a deep breath and focusing on the ex-wizard in front of her. She had other tasks ahead of her that needed her attention. "So what's happened to this person that ran off with your life-force?"

Regulus shrugged. "I can only assume that, as of a couple of months ago, he was destroyed, and my energy returned to my body, just like it had when I performed the exorcism."

Ginny couldn't help but smile. In her heart, she knew that it had to have been Harry that did it. Who else was hunting them down? And given the timing, it made sense, since it came shortly after his disappearance. It also meant that Harry hadn't been captured by Death Eaters, and that, as of two months ago, he was running around succeeding in his task of taking down the Dark Lord. That knowledge alone filled Ginny with an incredible sense of warmth, the kind of warmth that she could have devoted to a decent patronus. "That's a good thing," she said finally. "Isn't it?"

Regulus nodded. "If all the pieces are destroyed before the Dark Lord regains his strength, then he will most likely not survive. He will be vulnerable to even the most basic creatures, like rats and wild dogs."

"Er, well, that's not exactly how things are, at the moment." Ginny took a deep breath, seeing that Regulus was waiting for her to continue. "You see, he came back a couple of years ago. He's back to full strength - apparently more powerful than before even, and he's got his Death Eaters with him, and the Dementors, and who knows what else. The giants too, I think."

Regulus frowned. "That's not a good thing."

"No, it isn't. But at the same time, we've gotten a few of his horcruxes. I know of one other that's been destroyed. It was a diary. Harry Potter put a basilisk fang through it in my first year."

"A "Harry Potter? A basilisk fang? First year?" Regulus seemed to ponder this information for several minutes before quirking an eyebrow. "Do tell me if my math is wrong. Wouldn't Harry have been only twelve years old?"

Ginny nodded. "Yep. He not only took a sword and impaled it through the Basilisk's head, while he was fighting it, but then ripped the fang out of his shoulder where he was bitten and drove it into the cover of the book, all the while, Tom was standing around with Harry's wand pointed directly at him."

"Interesting," Regulus said. "So he really is ludicrously powerful, then? I remember the wizarding world was stunned to learn that an infant had repelled the killing curse back onto what was thought to be an immortal being. I believe most Death Eaters tried to hide and were simply praying that the boy would grow up and take their master's place. That apparently is not the case."

"Well, Harry's actually pretty average, all things considered. I think he's probably more powerful than the average wizard, and he's got a few tricks up his sleeve. He pulled off a fully corporeal patronus at thirteen - to save Sirius from a bunch of dementors, actually, but it's nothing on the scale of repelling killing curses and Dark Lords. No, it turned out it was his mother's love that saved him. Some sort of counter-charm."

Regulus nodded. "Hmm, that's very interesting. Even more so. I wonder if you can harness that sort of energy for general use, or if it requires a human sacrifice to be effective."

"Apparently the blood charm protected Harry up until his age of majority. At least that's what Dumbledore said. In fact, when Harry confronted the Dark Lord in his first year, he found that he was pretty much immune to him. That all changed when his blood was used in a potion to bring the Dark Lord back, however."

"Blood of a foe, unwillingly given," Regulus mused. "I remember reading that in one of our darker tomes."

"Funny, I never saw a particularly dark potions text at Grimmauld Place."

"You've been there?' Regulus asked, surprised.

She nodded. 'Headquarter of the Order of the Phoenix. Or at least it used to be before Dumbledore was killed."

"What?" Regulus said, now even more surprised. "Don't tell me the Dark Lord actually beat him in a duel. He must have grown weary in his old age."

It was now Ginny's turn to frown. "No, it wasn't the Dark Lord. It was actually Snape. Turns out he was a triple agent and picked off Dumbledore with the killing curse at point blank range. Dumbledore and Harry went after the locket and he drank some sort of toxic potion that weakened him. When they got back to the castle, it had been infiltrated by Death Eaters."

"There's a lot I've missed. Being here, I've tried to glean as much as I can about the world, but the muggle news I get is sorely lacking in detail, unsurprisingly. At least I managed to find out the date, so that wasn't such a surprise."

"Believe me, there's a lot more to tell if you want to get up to speed on current events."

"Who's the minister?"

Ginny made a face. "Rufus Scrimgeour."

"Never heard of him."

"I'm not surprised. It's been Cornelius Fudge for about fifteen years. Scrimgeour just took over when everyone finally realized that the Dark Lord had returned."

"Not a surprise. Fudge was a peacetime Minister. Scrimgeour, I'm betting, used to be an auror."

"I believe so."

The pair lapsed into silence for a long time, before Ginny finally asked, "So now what?" However, she noticed that Regulus was now looking towards the doorway. Ginny immediately followed his gaze and saw the woman Ginny had attacked earlier standing in the doorway, absently rubbing at the back of her head.

"Hello," Regulus said genially.

"Mmm," she muttered, taking a step into the room.

"You!" Ginny exclaimed, jumping up and preparing to get into a fight. "You're the one who's holding us hostage!"

"Hostage?" Regulus asked curiously. Ginny simply turned to him as though he were an idiot and then pointed at the locks on the door. Regulus seemed to understand, because he nodded in comprehension. "Right, well, I was hardly in much of a state to go prancing around muggle London with no money, so I wasn't exactly looking to get kicked out of here. Besides, I've been held captive in worse places before. All in all, it's rather comfy."

"Well, yes," Ginny said, "But-"

"Besides, she tended to my well being, and also through my bouts of delerium when I first woke."

"So you're sane now?" Angela asked, coming a bit closer.

"That doesn't bloody well excuse you from holding me for seven days without so much as a word!" Ginny railed, turning to Angela.

"To tell you the truth," the woman said "I was just rather scared. You see, I knew you were both the same somehow, because of your wood sticks. I just didn't know what it all meant until now."

"What do you mean, now?"

"You're shamans, of course."

Ginny looked at Regulus in puzzlement. "Shamans?"

Yes, practitioners of witchcraft."

"Ah," Regulus said, now understanding. "We prefer to call ourselves witches and wizards."

"That's fine," she said agreeably enough. "Care for a bite to eat?"

"Starved," Regulus replied.

"Come on then." Angela gestured with one hand and Regulus followed her out the door, leaving Ginny rather flustered at the sudden turn of events. Having nothing to do, she stormed off after them in a huff.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Hogwarts

After the debacle with the Hogwarts Express, the few families that had opted to send their children to Hogwarts for their magical education, did a one eighty and pulled their kids out before the first day of term had even started, many of them managing to notify the Headmistress before the lunch hour. With only the barest skeleton of students enrolled, Hogwarts had no choice but to shut down, and send those few intrepid children, who still chose to come, home. So, by September fifth, the iron gates came down over the main entrance, the large wooden doors were closed, the torches snuffed out and all personnel, both staff and Faculty, departed, leaving Hogwarts to be a ghost castle for an indefinite period of time. With the formal closure of the school for the first time since its inception, wards of all kinds appeared from out of nowhere, including a transparent blue, dome-like barrier that rose out of the earth from the front gates and cut across the sky and over both the towers, presumably touching down on the far side of the castle. It held for a moment before blending inconspicuously into the background. Minerva McGonagall stood, a small briefcase in one hand, a witch's hat atop her head, her cloak pulled tightly about her, staring at the marvel that was her home for three decades, and which she was now forced to abandon. Shaking herself from the torrent of memories that knew no end, she pulled herself away from the sight of her former home and climbed into one of the thestril-drawn carriages with Professors Flitwick and Sprout.

"It's the end of an era," Flitwick squeaked. "We'll all miss her, I reckon."

Sprout and McGonagall both nodded their assent. "I never truly believed it would come to this."

"I only worry for the children. What will they do now?"

"They will be home schooled, and some will be sent abroad."

None of them said it, but they all knew that it would be the muggle-borns who were hit the hardest. Many of them would never even be told of their magical abilities. Those exceptional few who were somehow informed would have to be affluent enough to send their children not only abroad but internationally so, where the tuitions were much higher for international students. Minerva wanted to do something about it all, she wished she could fight it out with You-Know-Who and his thugs, or go around finding the muggle-borns and taking them under her wing or at least just telling them about their abilities. Some of them would certainly end up hurting themselves or others as their magical abilities manifested themselves in greater and wilder acts of accidental magic. They would probably just end up being obliviated with the other muggles around them, until finally a burst of accidental magic so strong would simply cause them to blow up outright. Muggles would go on to call it spontaneous combustion, and it would be the talk of a few socially outcast people, rejected just like the alien abductees, who were more often than not poorly obliviated muggles. Sad, really. Alas, she decided she was getting too old for this sort of thing. Her heart hadn't really been in it for the second war, and more than anything she wanted to spend the rest of her days teaching children and then retiring. Frankly, with the war on, she was just thankful she could retire early and go somewhere far away, even the countryside would do, where she could forget about all the problems of the wizarding world and seclude herself even more than she already had.

Little did she know that, not one week after her departure, Hogwarts would reawaken in secret, teeming with the lifeblood of the next generation of soldiers dedicated to fighting the Dark Lord.

It was the middle of November. Ron had just finished looking through the design schematics for the Ministry of Magic, cross-checking it with the various notes that he and his soldiers had made regarding their own memories of the place and annotating the blueprints. As the leader, it had fallen on his shoulders to ensure that he knew the ins and outs of every facility they targeted for a strike, not that they had targeted any particularly difficult ones as of yet, even though, surprisingly enough, they had the floor plans for Malfoy Manor, which Ron was able to cross-check with his own memories of the place. Ron leaned back in his chair, letting the winter sun light his face from a nearby window. He exhaled and relaxed, his task for the moment having been completed, which was fortunate, as they planned to engage the Ministry that very night for a no nonsense stealth attack designed to procure one critical item - an item with which many of them were only vaguely familiar, and which the Ministry controlled strictly. A Time turner.

Over the last two months, the Phoenix Army had been very busy. Much of what they did was preparatory work, mastering warding, spell deconstruction, dueling, potions, stealth, guerilla and open combat. Key players had been given special assignments, including potion-making and the art of healing. Two of the muggle-born Ravenclaws, Terry Boot and Sue Lee, had been given one of the most complex tasks to date. Ron was acutely aware that any forward move by the Phoenix soldiers would immediately draw the attention of the Dark Lord and put him on alert. Immediately, the Dark Lord would, if perceiving a real and tangible threat, would switch from an aggressive stance to a cautionary one and would begin deploying more resources to reconnaissance and espionage. And that would be the kiss of death, he mused. There was no way they were skilled enough or had the resources to deflect the Dark Lord's scrutiny. No doubt he would deduce within days their hideout and immediately penetrate and crush the newborn resistance, unless they managed to be extremely mobile, which Ron didn't particularly regard as an option. No, he had envisioned another plan; one which would be more difficult, but which could produce highly prosperous results. It made him smile just thinking about the poor, confused purebloods, who tried to comprehend the threat they were dealing with through the lens of their medieval understanding of the world. It was bad enough that the stuff gave him a headache, and he at least wasn't nearly the bigot they were; hell, his own girlfriend was a muggle-born, and he even had difficulty with some of it.

The plan was based on some very simple principles. Ron was aware that, in certain circumstances, it was a sound strategy to overinflate the perceived strength of your forces in order to duly cow your opponent into submission. In some cases, a force ten times your size could be goaded into submitting without having to fire a single offensive spell. Often times a cleverly executed animation charm, some transfigurations, a sonorous charm and some misleading information could do wonders. However, this strategy, Ron was certain, would never work with the Dark Lord. Possibly with some of his followers, but only on the condition that they became convinced that a major assault was inevitable and that death or the infliction of permanent, grotesque wounds would be the inevitable result. As long as they had a secure fall back position, they would always retreat to it before surrendering outright, and Ron doubted if they would ever truly penetrate the Dark Lord's lair. As an overall strategy, it was out of the question, though Ron kept it in the back of his mind for use if the circumstances seemed favourable. No, this time around, Ron had the intention of doing exactly the opposite. They would strike in ways that would not alert the Dark Lord to their presence at all. If they executed their strikes properly, then the Dark Lord's resources would be stripped from him through a series of apparently random occurrences, untimely coincidences and the incompetence of his own soldiers. Better yet, it was Ron's hope that he would fracture the internal organization of the Death Eaters, sowing confusion and dissent from within, and, if managed properly, transform the alliances between the Dark Lord and the dark creatures into rabid enmity. Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee. It was an ambitious plan, to say the least, and required Ron to be something he never thought he would ever have to be - the ultimate Slytherin.

"Oy, boss!" Justin called from the entrance to the library. "They're ready!"

Here we go, Ron thought, putting away his files and heading toward the Room of Requirement, where he knew Terry and Sue were waiting.

"What do you have for me?" Ron asked, closing the door behind him and looking expectantly between the two eager Ravenclaws and the crates that were settled to either side of them.

"Ah, that is the question, now isn't it?" Terry said, his eyes twinkling mischievously. He flicked the lid off one of the crates and then put his wand away so that he could pick up a sleek, black pistol from inside. "Commander, allow me to introduce you to a .357 double action fully automatic Colt Python. It's one of the latest in light firearms available for use in underground magical warfare. Hold down the trigger like this-" Terry pointed the gun at the far wall and depressed the trigger, releasing several rounds into the dark. "Keep the trigger down and it will discharge rounds at a rate of one per second. The clips are charmed to duplicate rounds as fast as they are used, so you will never have to concern yourself with reloading. The kickback - it's okay you don't need to know what that is, and the sound of the report have both been taken care of to ensure better accuracy and stealth. Better yet, all the charms have been cast on the inner race of the barrel, and a coat of a distinctive polyester, known as kevlar has been applied to the exterior, which has the unique property of absorbing residual magic, thus making the weapons nearly undetectable by magic scans. You could walk right up to the Minister of magic with one of these and pop him off without any of his aurors being the wiser. That is until he collapses dead in a pool of his own blood, of course."

"Excellent," Ron said. "How effective are they for killing and incapacitating?"

Terry's good cheer went up a notch. With a theatrical wave of his hand, the room supplied a life sized Snape look-a-like. "Permit me to demonstrate." Terry fired off a round, which, in a speed faster than the eye could process, caused what looked like a miniature explosion in snape's chest, with blood pouring out and spilling across his clothes and down onto the floor. ""did I mention we're using hollow-tipped shells?" Upon impact, the tip of the bullet explodes, sending metal fragments like shrapnel into the surrounding tissues and organs, thereby causing maximum damage."

"And it punches clean through a magical shield?" Ron asked.

"Like a hot knife through butter."

"Perfect. You've both done excellent work. How many do we have and how long will it take to train a cadre of assassins?'

"Ah, but that's not all, mon capitain. We're getting ahead of ourselves," said Sue, her own mischievous smile looking somewhat feral. She tipped the lid off another crate and drew out a glistening silver pistol. "This here is a petite little .22. Unlike the muggle equivalent that Terry's holding, this fox has been magicked to the hilt and is the most advanced in magitek weaponry to date. It fires at a rate of four rounds per second with an unlimited clip. Each bullet is tipped with silver, unicorn essence and cobra venom, compliments of our potions department, making them the ultimate killing tool for humans, werewolves and vampires. The rapid fire is especially good for taking out high velocity objects. It has a high-sensitivity trigger and a signature ward, for instantaneous switching from safety-on to safety-off, and the bullet itself vanishes four seconds after discharge, leaving no trace of its presence, save for the three poisons. Even better, once keyed to the user, it will be useless to anyone else. Its only drawback is that it will scream enchantments to anyone who checks. I suspect that even somebody who is magically attuned will pick up on it without even looking. Still though, it's your best bet in an all out firefight."

Ron was impressed, to say the least. "Can we have all three teams outfitted for tonight?"

Terry shook his head. "No, we figured the Ministry crew wouldn't be needing it. As such, we've only created enough for the two that are going into hostile territory."

Ron nodded. "That's fine. In all likelihood, we won't need it on our raid at the Ministry. It just would have been nice to get them used to having them. We should at least start training them. How long do you figure before we're all competent with them?"

"Hold on, hold on!" Terry said. "You're still getting ahead of yourself. We haven't shown you the best part."

Ron quirked an eyebrow. "You mean there's more?"

Terry kicked off the lid of yet a third crate and pulled out what looked like a cumbersome vest. "Flak jackets," Terry said. "Made of the same high density polyester that the outer shell of the muggle guns are made of. As I said before, the stuff absorbs magic at a phenomenal rate, making the stuff nearly impervious to assault. Which reminds me, the guns are immune to summoning and expulsion charms. Anyway, these babies will stop everything we can throw at them, short of the unforgiveables. And when I mean everything, I mean everything. We tossed every curse we could think of, even some of the darker ones. It simply won't get through. I don't know what it is about the unforgiveables that makes them unique, but-"

"You cast an unforgiveable?" Ron interrupted, looking intently at Terry.

"Er, well, yes. Just the ones. We hit each other with the Cruciatus, though it didn't really work. Neither of us could maintain it, but we felt enough to know the jackets didn't protect us."

Ron nodded again. "The unforgiveables are magic that is directed at the soul, so it will connect to you via your aura, which extends past the clothes you wear. Ironically, the more powerful the wizard, the more susceptible they are to the curses, as the magic provides an in to one's soul."

"Really?" Both Ravenclaws looked keenly interested, and surprised that Ron was in possession of the information. He had had his own special project to deal with since his conversation with Olivander, and that was to uncover everything he could about the light magics of Merlin. As such, he was finding out more about the unforgiveables and soul magic than he had ever wanted to know, despite how interesting it did seem at times. Truth be told, it was all rather frustrating, and Olivander's suggestion about the patronus had proven far more fruitful than immersing himself in the bowels of the library. When he had first started attacking the subject, he hadn't been sure which he was worse at - trying to feel for the magic inside of him and understanding the differences between soul magic and body magic, or trying to wrestle an eclectic array of arcane scrolls written in middle English, old English and Latin. Not to mention the occasional Greek bit or even, at this Ron couldn't help but shudder, Sanskrit.

"I'll tell you about it after tonight," he said. "I have no doubt it would appeal to your Ravenclaw sensibilities. Perhaps you can even give me a hand."

Terry and Sue both exchanged looks, which did not go unnoticed by Ron. He merely waited for one of them to speak up. It was Sue. "You know, we'd been wondering what task you've set for yourself. I mean, you've never really been famous for hanging out at the library. No offense," she added quickly, and then continuing, "I mean, it's just that, we're all wondering what it is you're doing. You've been rather tight lipped about it."

Ron had to agree. It wasn't so much that he wanted to keep a secret from others; he just wanted to make sure he had a grip on it before presenting it to his comrades. He was all too aware of his lack of intellectuality, and he was deathly afraid of being shepherded into the position of a lab rat for a bunch of overeager Ravenclaws.

"Yeah, I mean. I saw you in the old Charms classroom not two weeks into our time here, and there was this weird silver glow coming from underneath the door." Terry shrugged. "Would've bothered you, but I figured it wasn't really my place."

"Not to mention Luna noticed that there was an order for a scroll from the Lyceum. I mean, it's the Lyceum for God's sake. And what was more impressive than the fact that it came from you-" Sue continued to look sheepish at this proclamation- "what was even more bizarre was that they granted the request. I have to confess, I am deathly curious. Commander, what is it that you are doing that requires you to contact one of the foremost, oldest and prestigious academic institutions this side of Christ? And the other side too, for that matter."

Ron smiled. "Ah, I see I'm not going to be able to fend you off for much longer. In truth, it's not really a big secret, at least not one I'm keeping from you guys. I'm not even sure how useful it'll be in the overall scheme of things, but I thought I should at least explore it, since it's a peculiarity that Olivander told me about, and I'm not going to leave a stone unturned; at least not if I can help it." Ron leaned against one wall and pulled out his wand, twirling it casually as he pondered what to say next. Finally, he decided on just showing them. "Silently he conjured a fully corporeal patronus - one Harry would have been hard pressed to match, and he did so without even taking the moment to concentrate that always made the charm so difficult in the presence of dementors. The patronus, despite the ease with which he cast it, was not particularly impressive; nor was the form, which was that of a large butterfly, which was now floating about comfortably in the still air.

After letting them have a moment to digest what they were seeing, Ron waited for one of them to respond. Eventually, they did, quizzical expressions on both their faces. "It's a patronus, right?" Terry asked.

Ron nodded.

"Well," Sue began hesitantly. "It's nice, I suppose. I mean, you did it rather quickly. Is there something special about it that I'm not seeing?"

Ron smirked. With another casual wave of his wand and the recollection of another happy memory, another patronus oozed out of his wand, taking shape from that eerie silver mist. This time it was a large bee.

"Two patronuses?" Terry asked, now seeming a bit more intrigued.

"I believe the correct construction is patroni, Mr. Boot," Ron corrected, his smirk widening into a grin. He sent the butterfly to go sit on Sue's shoulder, while the bee was sent to guard the door. Ron then casually waved his wand yet again, and this time, three hawks flew from his wand, surprising Terry and Sue even more. Ron sent them to go form a pincer formation around Terry, all the while eyeing him warily, and, while both Sue and Terry were now looking at the three birds of prey, Ron deftly summoned yet more patroni, all in rapid succession: a lion, a tiger and a bear.

"Oh my!" Sue said aloud, gasping at the sight of all the fully corporeal patroni now sitting in the room, all of them blinking and affixing their gazes to the two bemused Ravenclaws.

"H-How?" Terry asked, staring dumbfounded at all of them.

Ron's smile never left his face. "Attack me."

"What?" they chorused in confusion.

""With the Cruciatus."

It took a moment for Ron's words to register in their brains, and neither of them, upon realizing what Ron said, drew their wands. They couldn't quite understand what it was that Ron was asking of them. Certainly they didn't want to curse him, though, having keen intellects, they deduced that it wouldn't be as easy as they would normally expect.

Eventually, Terry drew his wand. "Are you sure?' he asked hesitantly.

"Quite."

Taking a deep breath, Terry aimed his wand and said in a clear crisp voice, all the while Sue looking pensive, "Crucio."

It took another moment for them to realize that nothing happened. Both the Ravenclaws blinked.

"Try again."

Terry obliged. "Crucio." Again, nothing. This time, Sue drew her wand, now intrigued. She uttered the incantation and watched as nothing came out of her wand.

"Having a bit of difficulty, are we?" Ron asked innocently.

Both of them put their wands away and said, "Okay, we bite. What's the deal?"

Ron chuckled. "Come on. I'll explain it over a bite to eat. We should get Neville here too and go over tonight's raids, just to be safe."

With that, the trio left the Room of Requirement and headed down to the kitchens, where Dobby and Winky remained, the last of the house elves of Hogwarts.

Ron and two soldiers penetrated the outer doors of the Ministry. They had, ironically enough, taken the same route that Harry and company had taken on their mission to rescue Sirius from Voldemort at the end of fifth year. Once inside, they deftly maneuvered through the main atrium, all three of them disillusioned and stealthing past the brethren in complete silence.

"What floor?" Neville asked.

"Level nine," Ron responded, taking position behind Neville and Luna. Once the elevator doors were closed and they were descending, Ron summoned a patronus in the form of a sparrow and sent her flying down through the walls and toward level nine.

"What was that for?" Neville asked curiously. He had been given the Coles notes version of Ron's patroni, but he still couldn't figure out what purpose such a charm would have for their present situation.

"Reconnaissance," said Luna, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Neville merely raised an eyebrow questioningly, but he did not pursue the issue. Clearly Ron did not see fit to correct Luna, so Neville just assumed that she was either correct or that Ron simply was not prepared to divulge what may have been key information in an exposed space.

Unsurprisingly, the lift reached level nine uninterrupted and opened into the enclosed octagonal space that all three of them remembered so clearly. it was for this reason that they had been selected for the Ministry task, which wasn't nearly as dangerous as the other two raids. Also, being purebloods, the three of them would have been the least effective entering into muggle environments and acting like muggles. "Which one?" Neville asked, but Ron and Luna merely stood about waiting expectantly, Ron's only comment being, "You'll see."

Within a minute, Ron's sparrow flew towards them through one of the doors and perched atop Ron's shoulder, having done its duty. Luna made to head to the door that the sparrow had come through, but Ron stopped her with a hand gesture, and took a moment to cock his head, as if listening to a report by the sparrow.

Neville watched this transaction acutely, attempting to glean some important piece of information. Clearly, the sparrow had notified them of the right door by moving from room to room without triggering any of the wards. Of course, that meant that Ron could somehow communicate with his patroni on some level, the only question remaining was to what extent. When Ron was satisfied, he left the patronus to guard the lift, presumably to watch for any movement that would signal that the lifts were being accessed. Neville had to marvel at Ron's artful forethought as they moved swiftly and silently into what Neville had dubbed the "Time Room". In it were the familiar knickknacks from that battle so long ago, including the strange jars of swirling substances, the brain-like creatures that had molested Ron and many other things, including the plain brown door that led them all to the Hall of Prophecies. Still meeting no opposition, all three of them began casting detection spells in search of anything that would signal their presence to security. They found no less than fifteen protections on each of the various objects. Luna was the first to begin dismantling the wards, which she did with quiet and efficient ease. Ron continued sending small, innocuous looking patroni into the other rooms in search of any potential threats. Still there was nothing.

"Seems rather easy, doesn't it?" Neville asked quietly.

Ron merely nodded his assent, taking inventory of the objects in the room.

"You would think with the Death Eater's loose..." Neville trailed off. He supposed that it would do no good to speculate on the whys and hows of the Ministry. They had gathered the best intelligence they could and if they were missing some critical piece of the puzzle, they would simply have to proceed without it, as planned. There was simply nothing else to do.

Luna dismantled the second last ward before pausing and turning to the others. She said, "This last one is beyond me. I suspect the Ministry has already been alerted to our presence. I am sorry."

"Don't be," Ron said. "Or at least, you can apologize later. What's this last ward?"

"I suspect it's a time ward. If it is, then it operates by existing out of phase from our own time. It is probably a few milliseconds ahead of us, which, as far as I can tell, makes it impossible to break, unless we have the right primer when it's activated. That, or there's a time alteration device here in the room that will undo it."

Four of Ron's patroni converged on him at that moment, indicating that they were being boxed in from four sides by a force of unknown size. "We have five minutes to break the ward and beat a hasty retreat." Ron began rapid firing detection wards on all the other objects in the room, and both Luna and Neville followed suit, until Luna happened upon the time reversal jar. "I think this may be it. It seems to have a circular or recursive pattern that suggests it goes both forward and backwards through time. I could be wrong, but it might be used to retract the ward back to our own time."

"I'll take your word for it, soldier," Ron said, continually scanning the three doors that led into the room they were in. He turned to Neville and said. "None of the wand signatures are dark. Whoever's approaching they're not Death Eaters. Most likely aurors and other Ministry personnel." Neville nodded his understanding and kept his wand at the ready, maneuvering himself in between two glass cases so that he was protected from incoming fire from at least two of the doorways. Their position was precarious at best, since they had multiple openings to defend attacks from, and because they were in a room full of dangerous materials. It was like dueling in a minefield.

Luna, meanwhile, took two minutes to dismantle the wards and tentatively extract one thin strand of the swirling viscous air pocket from inside and began ensnaring the time turner. Slowly, she drew it to her, until she had it in her hands. Smiling she turned to Ron. "Extraction phase complete, sir."

"All right. Let's move." The trio renewed their disillusionment charms, and Ron sent a contingent of patroni ahead of them to scout and misdirect any aurors. As they closed the door behind them and re-entered the room with the multiple doors, they heard the click and swoosh of air as somebody opened a door from somewhere behind them. "That one," Ron said, locking the door they just came from and going through the next one to the lifts. Once there, they took the lift to the main floor and apparated from the atrium, encountering no opposition whatsoever. Mission accomplished.

That night the soldiers celebrated the success of their tripartheid blitz, and, in the customary fashion of youth, expressed their jubilation through song and dance, and, most important of all, drink. Ron, Neville, Dean, Terry, Sue, Luna, Collin and Dennis, Katie, Hannah, Ernie, Susan and many others joined in the festivities in the Gryffindor common room, fire whisky and butter beer pouring in through the Honeydukes passageway like water, all the while the Wizarding Wireless blaring out tunes as if they had all just won the Quidditch World Cup. It was a small victory, they all knew, but a critical one nonetheless, more because it was a milestone, a symbol that they could go out into the world and do things, make changes, ghost like shadows through the dark right under the enemies' noses. It was a good feeling.

Katie climbed onto a table, shouting at the top of her lungs, "Phoenix Soldiers 3! Death Eaters 0! What do you all say to that?" Everyone cheered, raising their respective drinks.

Terry jumped onto the table, coming very close to Katie. He made an exaggerated bow and asked, "Fair lady, may I have this dance?" A slow song was crescendoing on the radio, and several people in the audience whistled and cat called to a very embarrassed Katie, who, all the while blushing, accepted and took Terry's hand. She was about to jump off the table to dance on the ground floor, when Terry deftly caught her in his arms and asked innocently, "Where are you going?"

"Er-?" Katie began, but she didn't have the chance to finish her sentence, because Terry held her close and bent her backwards, leaning in himself to give her a kiss. When they pulled back up for air, the girls in the crowd giving a contented sigh, while the boys rolled their eyes, Katie had a dazed expression on her face while Terry looked hopeful. The pair danced and would continue to do so for the entire evening.

Somewhere during the night, Neville and Luna found themselves together, Neville tackling alcoholic beverages for the first time in his life, his mind and body still riding the rush of exhilaration from their successful theft. He wasn't quite sure what Ron had in mind with the time turner, but he knew they were powerful devices, and whatever its purpose, it would have devastating effects on their enemies, assuming they didn't blow themselves up with it. "You're looking very lovely tonight, Luna," Neville said tentatively.

"The new moon tends to bring out the Quilberhian Snumpfits," she responded in her usual, serene way.

"Of course, of course," Neville agreed, not fazed in the least by her response. He continued to stand next to her, enjoying the slight warmth he could feel from her body, as it osmosed its way across the small space that separated them.

Luna turned and looked curiously at him for a moment, idly twisting her distinctive necklace in one hand. "They seem to be especially drawn to you tonight."

Neville considered the statement for a long while, before he finally smiled and turning his attention to her. "Luna, would you care to dance?"

"It would be an honour, Neville."

Neville laced his fingers through Luna's and they proceeded to lose themselves amidst the melee of bodies and alcohol, and, more importantly, connect with one another amidst the beat of music, the din of laughter, taste of wine and the peculiar, intoxicating, sour sweet smell that always fills the air when so many people's energies are brought into close contact with one another.

Ron watched from a distance, a glass of chilled Scotch in one hand, his mouth curved in a contented smile as he watched everyone enjoy the moment, bask in merriment, live life comfortable in the knowledge of their togetherness and their place in the world as the next generation of fighters. He was happy, yes, but he was also sad, and it could be seen in his eyes, which seemed to glow while beset by shadows in one corner of the room. He had spent the evening congratulating people, playing the leader, smiling, giving strength, and, of course, suffering the interminable solitude that comes with his position, his thoughts invariably drifting to one person. A girl.

Ron couldn't help from letting his mind wander through the vast repertoire of memories that he had of Hermione during their time together over the last six years, ranging from her irksome encyclopedic knowledge of magic to those soft tender kisses, her shy uncertainty, her insatiable thirst for knowledge, which he had come to find endearing. By midnight, even though the party was still in full swing, Ron finished his drink - he had moved onto firewhisky - and went to the seventh year dorm room where he and Dean and Neville had holed up. He was tired in a good way, the kind of tired that made you feel like you had accomplished something, a fatigue that rest could quell, a fatigue deep in the muscles. However, Ron found that he could not drag himself into bed. Instead, he stared out the window, thin streaks of dark blue lining the otherwise black and grey sky, all the while he watched, idly scanning the Hogwarts grounds for signs of movements. Occasionally, a shadow flitted here and there, though whether because of an animal or because of a breeze blowing about the fallen leaves, Ron could not tell.

Where had things gone wrong? he wondered, not for the first time, or the second, or even the hundredth. "Where are you, Hermione?" he asked softly in the night air. He remembered the first time someone had asked him about her, wondering where she was, why she wasn't part of the PA. It had been Padma Patil, of all people. Apparently Hermione had made quite an impression on Ravenclaw House, and had been the envy of many of her peers, for her keen mental acuity, many of them confiding to Ron over the last two months, often over drinks, about how unfair it was that a Gryffindor was the smartest witch at Hogwarts. He remembered getting drunk one night with Katie, the fire crackling merrily in the fireplace, exchanging old war stories about Quidditch, the various characteristics peculiar to each of their positions, the fun times, the bad times. He remembered vividly how the firelight had turned her otherwise pale skin golden, her dirty blonde hair cascading around her face, making her blue eyes shine. He remembered how she had looked, leaning in tentatively towards him, closing those few inches between them as they revelled in their own memories of happier times, she daring to brush his lips with hers, he letting her. It had been a chaste kiss, and it was never repeated, though he often caught her glancing his way on the sly, an expression of both wistfulness and sorrow adorning her features. It was hard not to dwell on the quagmire of emotions and desires that moments like these brought on, the din and laughter and music still faintly audible from across the room and through the stairwell to the common area. His keen ears could even pick up her laughter, musical it seemed, and Ron imagined Terry having made some clever, witty joke to set her off. He was happy for them; he didn't doubt that one bit, but it didn't alleviate his own torment. Not that it mattered. Most of the time, often under the brilliance of the winter sun, Ron was able to quash down the nuclear wasteland where his heart should have been.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I don't own any of it.

A/N: Hi all. Initially, I didn't intend to write this chapter, and, after I did, I decided I wouldn't bother posting it, because I wasn't sure whether some of the material in it would be well-received. However, it has come to my attention, that there's a fic out there that features in explicit detail, Harry having sex with his mom. After hearing about that, a little bestiality and infanticide seems downright tame. If either of these topics apalls you, either morally or artistically, feel free to disregard this chapter entirely and move onto the next one, which I am posting immmediately after I post this one. There's nothing you need to know in this chapter that you can't rapidly deduce from the next one. All right, on with the show.

Chapter Thirteen

The Winter Solstice

Hermione was cold and wet, and, at the present time, was crouching back on her haunches while sitting on a thick branch in a tree in the middle of a giant, dark forest. She remained like that for some time, the late November night continuing on in silence, the glow of the full moon cutting through the thick wall of tree branches, forming a spray of moonlight dewdrops on the earthen floor. Below her, the deep rumble of what could have been a Ford Mustang v. 8 rippled through the silence, making goosebumps break out on Hermione's flesh. She licked her lips in unconscious anticipation, forcing herself to remain composed, counting silently in her mind to keep from jumping the gun. Timing was everything; it was the difference between life and death. The Dark Lord knew this, and he learned patience over several decades. She expected to learn it much more quickly.

The dark creature down below turned its gaze up to the sight of that rich, glowing white orb in the sky and emitted a long, mournful howl. Now, Hermione thought, her eyes blazing with a momentary ferocity as she slipped from the tree branch, silently crashing down on top of the werewolf, her slim legs pincering the creature's midsection on either side as she straddled it, a nine inch switchblade coming to life in her hands so that, as the creature bucked and reared back to try and throw her off, she responded by driving the point into the base of the werewolf's neck hard and fast so that the blade penetrated its tough skin and was buried right up to the hilt. This caused the creature to jerk that much more wildly, giving its macabre dance in the clearing a twitchy sort of desperation. Hermione gripped the creature by the hair on its head, using only one hand so that the other was free to grab the knife by the handle and wrench it sideways, opening a large gash in the creatures body, so that blood could pour out freely.

Blood. The sight of it made Hermione lick her lips in animal anticipation. Without waiting for the creature to settle down and fall unconscious, or sink into a drunken stupor from blood loss, Hermione gripped its fur in both her hands, all the while squeezing that much harder with her legs to hold on, as she bent down and pressed her pink, wet lips to the open wound, suckling the gash as blood poured out, drawing the dark red substance into her mouth, over her tongue, where it tingled the senses, made her magical receptors come alive with energy, the blood coursing down her throat in a steady stream. God, how she loved the taste of it. She loved the dizziness that overtook her, the feeling that she couldn't stand from the sheer giddiness, the heightened awareness of her limbs, the strength, the constant flow of vitality through her veins, the feel of the rich life of the forest rolling across her skin in waves. Hermione let each bout of the liquid slosh in her mouth, coat every warm, wet area. She let it slide down her face, dripping over her chin and curling around to the underside of her head and down her neck, pooling about her Adam's apple and continuing on down onto her shoulders, along the ridge of her collar bone, down across her chest, filling in the hollow between her breasts as it continued winding its way downward, filling in her belly button and down her waist, her legs, her calves until it disappeared into the forest floor. She drank so that her teeth were stained red, so that her belly gurgled with the richness of it. She drank and she drank until the wolf fell into a heap and the blood flow began to slow, and she was sated for the moment, her feeding done. Hermione rolled off the creature, which she knew would not lie still for long. God, how she loved the taste and feel of werewolves; their strength a hundred times that of the krup she had enjoyed on that fateful day so many months ago. The cold now embraced her, turning from a daunting, lethal entity to a warm embrace. The moon made her come alive, made her free as it sprinkled her with light. She lay there, smiling, staring up at the canopy of foliage, her eyes attuned to all the creatures that roamed the night.

The wolf stirred next to her, its heightened regenerative abilities already restoring its lost blood, the otherwise fatal wound visibly thinning. Hermione watched, fascinated as always by the regeneration. Unlike before, where she often watched from the tree branches high above, her own self-preservation instinct inducing her to flee the monstrosity, she now remained on the floor with it, next to it, admiring it in all its glory and in a way she never could have done before. Its hulking frame rose into the air, its body all the more fearsome from her vantage point on the ground, as she lay helpless before it, full of a nervousness and an excitement, though for what she couldn't quite tell. The creature looked down at her, its jaws snapping the night air, saliva dripping from them and onto her neck, sending shivers of anticipation through her.

She purred softly in response to its deep growl. "Hello," she continued, her eyes alight with mischief. In a flash, the creature moved itself on top of her, its powerful forearms and hind legs forming a cage around her body. It growled again, its hot breath smelling of digested raw meat and tickling her neck and shoulders. It peered at her closely with its slitted, yellow eyes, as if sizing her up, and Hermione felt an instant thrill course through her; a kind of thrill she hadn't felt in a long time, and she suddenly realized just how alert all her senses were, how alive she felt, how she felt so incredibly... lustful. "Are you even my type?" she asked aloud, knowing full well the creature would not respond one way or the other. Instead, Hermione simply cast a glance down at the creature's lower half, her eyes easily picking out its genitalia, which caused a visceral delight to well up in her. She locked gazes with the creature once again, her face expressing unfettered delight, one hand, stroking the creature's muscular chest, the other reaching down and gripping its hard penis. She cocked her head as a sign of questioning, wondering if the creature was understanding her meaning. From the throbbing organ in her hands and the howl of triumph that the creature emitted as it turned its snout to the sky, Hermione decided that it did understand.

In all honesty, Hermione had no clue what she was doing. All she knew for certain was that the blood drinking, which she had acclimatized herself to over the last two months had escalated to her current predicament, where she needed large doses of magically powerful blood just to keep from going into convulsions. Now, it seemed that her newfound beverage of choice was creating other side effects, demanding of her other urges that demanded satiation. Her intellectual mind still very much intact, Hermione knew that sex between magical beings could have deep consequences, and, to her surprise, that part which had always been reserved about her newfound endeavours, had appeared to give up fighting and join her dark side, for it now simply urged her onward to satiate its own curiosity regarding the effects that such a bizarre and unseemly union would have.

As such, Hermione let go of the werewolf's penis and threw her hands around its thick neck, arching her back and lifting her legs up to wrap around its hind ones, affording the creature better access and making it clear that she was not only willing, but eager. The creature bent down close and fucked her senseless, acting uncharacteristically human-like at times and doing things like nuzzling and licking her neck and shoulders, causing Hermione to oscillate between moaning and screaming with pleasure.

That night, Hermione lost her virginity. Come morning, she had disappeared, leaving a dishevelled, naked Remus Lupin ambling about in a most peculiar daze. he didn't know quite what to make of the previous night, though he felt that there was something distinctly different about it. Just what it was he couldn't put his finger on, and, so, shrugging, he simply transfigured himself a new pair of clothes and apparated back to his flat near Diagon Alley, where Tonks was waiting for him.

In the days that followed, Hermione knew that something fundamental had changed within her. It was something inarticulable, and it wasn't altogether a good thing or a bad thing. For one, she found the usual invigorating feeling that accompanied her blood drinking did little to assuage her deep thirst. However, while the thirst remained omnipresent, the shadow of withdrawals never breached an arms length distance. It was all around disconcerting, because it left her in a state of perpetual yet mild discomfort. It seemed as though nothing was fated to go her way. She also found her moods to be largely moved by the waxing and waning of the moon, and she had no doubt that she would be in for a peculiar surprise on the next full moon, which, she noted, was on the day of the Winter Solstice. That, she knew, would prove to be most interesting, for a werewolf's strength grew exponentially at the height of the moon's gaze and was amplified that much more the longer the preamble. She had no doubt that the werewolves in the forest would be at the peak of their strength on that night. A peak that would not be realized again for another twenty to thirty years. Armed with that knowledge, a decidedly twisted plan began to form in her mind.

Since her departure back in September, Hermione had spent her time doing many things. She had roamed about all parts of Britain, apparating here and there, slipping between the dark places and the light places, like sunrays and moonbeams in twilight. All this she did for the purpose of executing one critical task: gathering as much information on the dark arts as she could possibly manage. In particular, information on dark transformations. She had no illusions that whatever magic was necessary to liberate dementors from their bondage would not be recorded. She knew already of their history, which was distinctive to say the least. Moreover, the confluence of magics that brought them into existence were enormously complex, spanning multiple phenomena and theories, all of which were amortized over decades, geographies, climate conditions, etc. All in all, it should have taken her a lifetime or more to uncover, and it would have, if she concerned herself with defining the term "free", as the dementor commanded, in a more liberal sense.

Unlike Voldemort, Hermione did believe in an afterlife, and she was happy to go there once her time on Earth finished its run. She didn't particularly believe that she would be sent to Hell, because she didn't believe it existed. As such, it was easier for her to cast off whatever qualms she had regarding some of the less sanitized elements of her dark arts education. She supposed that the dementors would, if all else were equal, would have just as well gone on to some pretty place with endless seas of flowers and blue skies and soft ocean waves, butterflies and all the other namby pamby aphorisms that people tended to use to describe idyllic or heavenly landscapes. Such a place, Hermione supposed, may or may not exist. Certainly, if it did, she imagined that the dementors would want to go there, like it were a luxury retirement condo with one of those fancy names like Devonshire Estates, or Kensington Gardens or something. However, Hermione knew that the term "free", which might normally connote such an endeavour, was not quite adequate to describe her plans for the dementors. No, she had something else in mind quite entirely. As far as she was concerned, simple annihilation would have to suffice, and whatever the universe or God or Gods did to rectify or relocate their intrinsic energies would be up to them and not her. Or at least mostly. Part of her plan, of course, was to simply vaporize their souls magically, or at least do so to the best of her abilities. Such a task in its own right was extremely difficult and worth a Nobel prize in magical theory.

One October evening, having recently penetrated the deep recesses of Borgin & Burke's and extracted several rare dark arts texts, she spent reading on the subject, familiarizing herself with the nuances of blood alchemy and mechanisms for understanding magical degree, strength, flexibility and other concepts. She discovered that the most complicated aspect to blood magic was, in muggle terms, a relatively simple concept. Just like blood, magical essences had to be compatible with the host before ensuring acceptance. This led Hermione quite quickly to the notion of a magical immune system, which, to wizards, would have been a revolutionary concept all on its own. To Hermione, it seemed rather obvious and took her less than a fortnight to fully comprehend and deconstruct. She supposed Riddle would have had to have understood something similar for he surely had undergone some of the same transformations that she was slowly undergoing herself, albeit in a fashion that didn't give much regard to his appearance afterwards; something she was keen on preserving. She was still a girl, after all.

She supposed that Voldemort, unlike her, would have taken steps to maintain blood purity, possibly even going so far as to reduce the diversity of his own blood in attempt to rid himself of the muggle taint. She could manage only a barely concealed contempt for that sort of thinking. Already, by early December, Hermione felt a chronic vitality unlike anything she had ever felt before. The wolf in her had fused itself into every part of her body, turning her skin tanned and healthy looking, giving her a clarity of vision she had never before had. Animals had no concept of politics; their minds were clear of all the ambiguities that the "moral sense" brought with it. She felt as though her intellect had been purified somehow, stripped of the restraints of uncertainty that had plagued her before. And so, she delved, harder and faster and with a keen, discerning eye that allowed her to create a flawless plan for the next full moon - one which would begin to solidify her power and bring her to the brink of the abyss, from where she would either learn to fly or lose herself in her own madness.

December 21st.

"Come to me," she said in a clear, ringing voice. All manner of creatures now flocked to her, both light and dark, those few small birds that did not hibernate during the winter coming out and perching high above to watch the display of raw power that was about to be unleashed. From around her, the howls of her children reverberated through the deep oaks and elms, the resonance a trumpet call bringing to bear all that felt her, the Dark One. Soon, dementors began pouring in, or at least the ones that had charged her with her task. They glided silently through the woods, the moonlight turning black wherever they past, the winter chill deepening around them, their cold, ragged breath the only sound as they closed in about their quarry. Hermione smiled. Come and get me.

She had timed it so that many things were in place when they arrived. The wolves, her pack, were approaching the peak of their strength, making them agitated and lust for the meat of live humans. All the while, the dementors approached, like pilgrims on a sojourn. Two cauldrons beset Hermione, both with fires stoked underneath to keep them warm.

"Come now," she said to all the creatures that now stood before her, her macabre audience waiting to find out how she had fared with the task set before her. "It is time to release you."

With that proclamation, the chilling presence of the dementors seemed to intensify with their anticipation. Hermione simply smiled. It was almost time. Patience.

She took a moment to double-check that her cauldrons were both at the right temperatures, before snapping her fingers and calling on one of the wolves to bring forward a human sacrifice. Priscilla Flint was dragged along the forest floor by the largest of the wolves, its jaws crunching down on her leg bone as it dragged her, her whimpers cutting through the still night air as the participants watched with fascination.

"Marcus's wife, isn't it?" Hermione asked politely as she was deposited at Hermione's feet. The young bedraggled woman was too terrified to speak, realizing for the first time that she was not only in the presence of wolves, but werewolves no less, and dementors and this strange dark beauty, who seemed both lithe and feral. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Seeming to hope that this girl who could not have been older than herself might help her, Priscilla spoke, "W-who are you?"

Hermione smiled and began speaking in soothing terms. "It's okay, Mrs. Flint. I understand you're scared. I want to assure you that it's no one's intention to hurt you here tonight. Or at least, not mine. Do you understand that?"

Priscilla seemed hesitant to respond, but, after a moment, nodded tentatively, her eyes searching for any break in Hermione's apparent sincerity.

Hermione responded with a beatific smile and said, "Good. That's good. I wanted to make sure there was no confusion." She straightened her posture and looked to the array of dementors that spanned the clearing before her. With a nearly imperceptible nod, she queued the wolves to back down and retreat into the shadows beyond the edge of the dementors' consciousness. Let them forget about my children for now, she thought. It will do better for us later. The only one that remained by her side was the alpha male, who kept his keen eyes trained on the head dementor, no doubt, exercising his will to hold back from tearing the creature's throat out. In time, Hermione thought, purring softly to her companion. In time. She pulled out a used old wand, one which belonged to one Death Eater or another. One which she had pilfered long ago during one of those tumultuous adventures she and Ron had had gallivanting around Malfoy Manor. Reflecting on it, she realized that she may have still been using the wand she snitched from the Death Eater that she killed in that junkyard with the krups. That made her smile, for, just like then, she was on the brink of a new dawn.

"Why am I here?" Priscilla asked.

"You're here to participate in a very important ritual, Priscilla," Hermione said, now levelling her wand at the prone woman.

"A ritual?" she asked, gaining a bit of her composure. "What kind of ritual?"

"A dark one, Priscilla," Hermione responded cryptically, enjoying the slow build up to the nightmare horror that she was about to inflict on this unsuspecting Death Eater sympathizer and her Death Eater spawn. "A very dark one indeed."

Priscilla seemed to finally understand that she was in a bad way. Gathering her courage, she said, "The Dark Lord will punish you greatly for this." She cast a nervous glance at the dementors, suddenly doing some quick math.

Hermione merely laughed a sound that could have been musical. "What makes you think I'm not working for the Dark Lord already? I have his servants before me, do I not? The dreaded dementors of Azkaban. Immortal, unstoppable creatures of pure power, and among some of the darkest and foulest on this planet."

"You'll never get away with this," Priscilla persisted, returning her gaze to Hermione. "Marcus has been nothing but loyal to the Dark Lord, and he and I will both be rewarded."

Hermione merely smiled. "We shall see." With a short jab of her wand, Hermione incanted, "Gastrofaetus extorsis." A pale blue beam of light erupted from the wand tip and bathed Priscilla's abdomen in light. For a moment, the pregnant woman now in her third trimester did not understand the function of the spell, though, through the sudden wash of pain and the distinct feeling of disgorgement in her midsection, she began to understand exactly what was going on. "OH GOD NO!" she half-wailed, half-shrieked, both because of the pain and in sympathy for the life of her child, which was now being ripped from her. The spell, a specialized dark arts summoning charm, had the function of extracting fetuses from the mother's womb, keeping them perfectly intact and healthy, often for the purposes of saving the male heir of a pureblood line at the expense of the mother's life.

The child, which was mostly formed, its eyes blinking owlishly as it stared at Hermione, all the while its body floating and encased in a warm, temperature moderated cocoon, sat there, still upside down and naked and curled together, it's flabby little limbs pooling about its body as though it were still simply waiting for the day when it would come to exist fully. Hermione guided the newborn baby to the center of the glade and set it down, gently wiping away all the excess juices and blood that was spilt on it during its extraction. Once having cleaned it thoroughly, she picked it up and dunked it into one of her roiling potions, waiting thirty seconds before extinguishing the heat. After another minute, as she waited for the potion to turn from a murky grey to a coppery red, she turned to the dementors and commanded. "Now you will come here and take a sip from this cauldron. Drink one vial full, no more, no less. Hermione set the vial down on a small table next to the cauldron and stepped away, so that each of the dementors could glide forward and do as they commanded. Many of them seemed hesitant, it seemed, but, after the first one - the head dementor - did so with confidence and what Hermione could only describe as grace, the others followed suit, clearly willing to trust in their leader's faith in Hermione's abilities.

Once they had all finished, she smiled again that warm, disarming smile that had worked so many times to convince people that she was naive and innocent. "Good, good," she murmured, coming forward to the first dementor, her wolf snarling next to her, her feet absently sloshing through the spilt bodily fluids of the now dead mother. Hermione placed her hand along the jaw line of the dementor, wanting to feel its skin just once before it disappeared forever into oblivion.

"How does the potion make you feel?" she asked in her soft, soothing voice, all the while continuing to trace her finger over the creature's cold, rough skin. It did not respond, and merely stood there silent except for its breathing. "A long time ago, you called me the Dark One. Do you remember that?"

Again, no response.

Hermione let out a little snort. It was almost time now. The wolves were on the peak of their power, their bloodlust held back at bay only by Hermione's iron will. Counting down from ten, she continued to stare into the shadowed depths of the dementor's hood, idly wondering what its blood would taste like on her lips. It could very well be one of the most exquisite delicacies she ever had. Three, two one. with a slight tilt of her head, her wolf companion pounced, driving the dementor to the ground in one clean stroke, its snout laying down close to the dementor's throat, its forearms pinning the dementor at the shoulders. From the corner of her eye, she could tell that the other dementors were growing agitated by this turn of events, knowing full well that their leader had not planned on this happening. Still, they did not move, not that it mattered to Hermione, for one toe out of line and the other wolves would pounce, ripping them to shreds. You only have an hour to do this before the potion wears off, so quit dawdling, she admonished herself, and, with that imperative, Hermione fell to her knees next to the dementor's head and silently drew out her switchblade bringing it to life and ruthlessly coring out the dementor's eyes, the only sign of its pain visible in the slight raspiness of its breath. Hermione threw the orbs to one side, having no use for them, and began excising the vitrial jelly from the now dead eye sockets. She threw the viscous grey sludge into the second cauldron. Peripherally, she saw that the other dementors were in the process of being mauled, their bodies being driven to the ground and ripped apart as they feebly tried to either flee or defend themselves with their bone-thin, cracked grey arms. Werewolves had no concept of feelings such as despair or hope. They had only one imperative, and that was to kill, which made them virtually invulnerable to a dementor attack. With the dark poison they were administered binding their souls to their bodies, they were suddenly vulnerable to physical attacks, which would have the effect of releasing their souls as their blood spilled onto the dirt and dead leaves.

"You asked me to free you," she said in a soft, deadly voice, her lips brushing the creature's cheek through the fabric of its cloak. "Tell me, did you think it would be easy? Did you think freedom would not have its price? Had you visions of green pastures and soft sands and blue skies as far as the eye could see? Did you dream of paradise, Sagaz? Tell me, did you?" Hermione waited for an answer, knowing that the creature could no longer even give her that, since its legilimantic powers had been torn from it. "I have kept my promise, Sagaz. Remember that. I have released you and your kin. Soon, you will exist somewhere in the throes of oblivion, in the absence of pain. I hope that that is enough." Hermione reached down into the folds of its cloak and pressed her hands on top of the dementor's chest, where its heart should have been. "Good-bye, Sagaz." With that, Hermione drove her fingers through the cracked, brittle flesh of its body and through the bones, ripping out its still-beating black heart, slick with the viscous black oil that served as its blood. She held it up in the cool night air, the moonlight shining down on it, making it look like a living breathing heart of obsidian. Tentatively, she brought the thing to her mouth and licked the black ooze, which made her shudder with repressed ecstasy. Oh God, it's amazing, she thought. Despite her dark side begging for more, she hesitated, and, knowing better than to get herself blown up or poisoned by the substance, which, she had to admit, was far too toxic to consume in her current state, she instead thrust it to one side. Her gaze fell on her loyal wolfmate, and a new idea took hold in her mind. Without bothering to scrutinize the consequences, she cocked her head to one side and silently commanded him to take the heart. The creature, having all its faith in her, did so, consuming it right out of her hand the way a loyal dog would take from its master. The werewolf, once lapping up all the blood from her hands and having consumed the dementor's heart in its entirety, pushed forward, knocking Hermione to the ground and positioning itself on top of her. "Ooh, you want to play, do you?" she asked coyly, a smile spreading across her face. The creature tore apart her clothes and pushed her hard into the ground, both of them oblivious to the fact that they were practically swimming in the blood of all the dementors.

Hermione howled with pleasure as the werewolf pressed himself into her, she biting its neck ferociously, drawing blood and sucking on it as it pulsed and thrust back and forth, causing her to bleed into the puddles of black oil and squeal and throw her head back panting and groaning and hissing, "Yesssss." She and the werewolf passed out like that, both of them having climaxed and fallen into a contented sleep.

Hermione awoke to the blue light of dawn. She picked herself out of the still wet blood and padded softly to her second cauldron. Her tasks were not yet completed. The other werewolves had disappeared in the night, which was fine by her. When she looked down in the cauldron, it was full of that same jelly she had taken from the dementor the night before, which was a welcome surprise to her. The wolves must have done this, she thought, secretly impressed with their intelligence, and touched by the gesture. It's like a Christmas gift. Hermione stoked the fire to heat up the jelly to a nice warm temperature. She then found her switchblade, cleaned, sterilized and sharpened it for the task ahead. She deftly bathed her arm in dementor blood, and then, when the jelly was nice and warm, she began cutting thin lines across the skin of her right hand and forearm. She had considered doing this to her wand arm, but decided that it would be more effective on her non-dominant hand, since she could then keep her dominant hand free for other things. Moreover, the task took a great deal of precision, and she wasn't confident she could pull it off the other way. As such, Hermione continued making crisscrossing clines, each of which were very thin, causing no blood to actually well up in little bubbles as it often did with paper thin cuts. Every few minutes, she lathered the wounds with the jelly, letting it settle, willing it with the force of her carnal will to draw itself into her skin, to fill the narrow cuts and remain there. At first, the jelly did not want to obey, but, as each line were cut and the complex formation of the runes came into being, they seemed to take on a life of their own, even going so far as to shift ominously to redistribute themselves to where they were needed most. When she was finished, she discovered that she had used all the jelly she had, and that the network of runes stretched from her elbow all the way to her fingertips, making her skin look like the victim of some sort of tribal art. Except much more dangerous, of course.

Already, Hermione could feel the energy of the dementor's power trying to take over, trying to ooze into her blood, to escape into her veins and through the rest of her body. She downed three successive potions and snorted a line of powdered bezzer and let her own magic do the rest of the work, deploying the binding agents as needed, taking a grip on the incredible force that she had just connected to and assimilating it, letting it taint her body and her soul before clamping down and crushing it beneath her superior will. That's it, she thought, savouring the feeling of awareness that was stealing over; an awareness a hundred times more acute than that of her wolf instincts. She smiled at the thought of the powers she could now inflict on her enemies. With a casual wave of her hand, Hermione watched all the small creatures that had begun congregating near the carnage shriek in terror as they were bombarded by a legilimantic attack comparable to the force of a hundred dementors. Some of them clawed out their own eyes with their front paws. Birds of various kinds simply dropped dead and fell to the ground, looks of terror on their tear-stained faces. In a single stroke, she created carnage the likes of which even Voldemort would have been hard pressed to match. Hermione summoned one of the dead birds to her, its body still warm, its heart and magic still alive, waning and going gently into that good night. Hermione skinned it and roasted the meat with her wand, chewing thoughtfully. Before long, she felt the familiar aura of her wolf come forward, surprised that it was still around now under the shining sun. When she turned back to see it approach, she nearly fell over in shock.

Before her was gone the half-man half-wolf creature that she had made love to the night before. That in and of itself was not surprising, since she had fully expected to have seen an adult male in its place. Instead, however, what she saw was neither. A sleek, black-haired wolf stood before her, easily thrice the size of a normal wolf, looking more like a small pony with exceptionally large muscles. Where its grey fur had been was now a glistening black coat, and where its once yellow eyes had been were now polished gold orbs gazing directly back at her. Whether it was the wild magic in the air, the sex, the blood or the dementor's heart, or some strange mix of them all, Hermione did not know. Whatever had happened, clearly the humanity had been drained from the creature, leaving only the hulking power of the werewolf, cross-bred with what she could only imagine as being some of the strengths or qualities of the dementors. Hermione slowly got to her feet and approached the creature, which, after a moment of intense scrutiny, knelt down in a show of subservience.

"That's my boy," she cooed softly, coming up to him and stroking his soft fur. "You're so beautiful." The creature wagged its tail enthusiastically at her acceptance of it. "You're going to be my familiar, methinks. The only question is, what am I going to call you?"

The dementor-wolf merely waited for her to finish.

Hermione considered the question. She wanted a name that was befitting her new familiar. It would have to be something fierce, yet unique, for this creature was both of those things. It would have to be something that commanded respect and fear, befitting his station. Absently caressing his neck, she finally spoke, "I will call you Azrael, named after the Angel of Death."

The creature looked up at her with its deep golden eyes, and she felt him silently willing his assent. "Good," she said, agreeing. "Very good indeed. There's only one order of business left before we move on then." Hermione plucked one hair from Azrael's coat and held it up to the sunlight. It was the blackest material she had ever seen, and she thought, though she couldn't quite be sure, that it managed to make the sun a little dimmer when raised next to it. Hermione set about the rest of the day collecting the various ingredients she would need to fashion a new wand. It was about time she had dispensed with a second hand wand, and took the time to build herself a new one. She would have gone to Olivander's, except that she knew in her heart of hearts that he would have nothing that was suited to her new disposition. Besides, she already knew how to make wands, and she had some of the finest and most unique ingredients at her disposal in that clearing of death. So, as the day waxed and waned, Hermione gently carved and polished a stick of wood made from an ash tree. Twelve inches, long, she took the carefully sanded wand and bathed it in the dementors' blood, careful to keep the blood at a specific temperature with well-placed heating charms, thus infusing the wood with the visceral energies of the essence of dementors. Eventually, she affixed the hair of the dementor-wolf to the tip and bound it using charms, and, eventually, the blood of her new familiar. She then inscribed runes along the handle, etched in her own blood, thus keying it with an unbreakable signature ward. Eventually, she set it over an open flame to dry, causing the magical essences inside to crystallize and harden. She repeated the process of bathing it in blood and drying it four times, before satisfied that it was in deed complete. When Hermione was finished, she picked up the wand gently and held it between her fingers, admiring it for a long time in the growing dark. She smiled a giddy little smile as she swished it through the air, elated when she saw the stream of midnight black sparks issuing from the tip.

There she stood, alone in the dark, her clothes tattered and hanging off her like the vestiges of her own sanity, Hermione Granger was no more. In her place stood The Dark One. There stood the Wrath of God.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I don't own any of it.

Chapter Fourteen

In the Midst of War

November 18 marked a small but significant victory for the light side. From that night onwards, Ron and his troops managed to secure a handsome supply of bodily excretions from various Death Eaters, as well as a time turner. Moreover, they managed to strike down Mulciber, a member of the Dark Lord's inner circle, but not before extracting vital information regarding the Dark Lord's plans and the current state of his resources. More importantly, they successfully staged the strike to look like a random muggle theft gone wrong, leaving only a muggle prostitute half alive at the time, so that she could relay the muggleness of the attack to the Death Eaters that would interrogate her hours later. The Death Eaters would, of course, kill her, before reporting their findings to the Dark Lord.

Now armed with the knowledge of events to come, the Phoenix Army began a campaign to discredit his own soldiers. Occasionally, one would go missing, never to appear again. The Phoenix Army would not kill the Death Eater, for they knew that the Dark Lord could tell if the individual had been slain, nor could they keep the Death Eater conscious, because messages could be transmitted wandlessly through the Dark Mark. As such, prisoners had their memories extracted into a pensive before they were poisoned with the draft of living death. This had the upshot of ensuring that if they wanted to revive the prisoner later and frame him for something, his memories wouldn't reveal the existence of the PA. It had become common knowledge that the Dark Lord was skilled at cracking memory charms, and had no regard for the mental well-being of his soldiers.

From time to time, Death Eaters would appear in compromising positions, or possessing incriminating evidence that would link them to the light side. It was the PA's sincere hope that the Dark Lord would kill them outright. Better yet, the PA, loathed as they were to use it, employed mind control techniques, including the Imperius Curse, to stage conversations between phoenix soldiers who were polyjuiced either to look like other Death Eaters or unknown muggles, which would hint at fabricated plans and locations, which could then be counter-booby-trapped in anticipation of a Death Eater response, assuming that the Dark Lord took the time to sift through the Death Eater's memories. The trick, of course, was to ensure that when the Death Eater's made moves based on the fictitious plans, the resulting disaster for the Dark Side would not appear to be pre-empted, but merely the result of the incompetence of his own Death Eaters. The coup de gras, however, was going to be when they finally reveal the orchestrators of the underground movement to be none other than corrupted inner circle members attempting to overthrow the Dark Lord and take his place. Ron hoped that they could put the vampires and werewolves in similarly incriminating positions, and that the Dark Lord would be prejudiced enough to paint the entirety of a species with the brush of treason. It could be sweet. If all went well, the Dark Lord's forces would crumble to dust without the Dark Lord ever having caught on to the existence of the Phoenix Army.

Neville surprised even himself when he spoke up to counter-argue a point, especially because it was a point made by a Ravenclaw, and he had to admit they were amongst the best strategists they had. "Going after Bellatrix will only serve to backfire on us," he said. "If you try to incriminate her as being a traitor to the Dark Lord, you may end up alerting him to our presence."

Lisa Turpin shook her head vehemently. "That's ridiculous, Neville. How would the Dark Lord even be able to come up with the thought that the Phoenix Army exists? There won't be any evidence. It will work just like our last two raids, only this time it will be one of his top lieutenants who take the hit."

"You're underestimating our opponent. He will not believe so readily that Bellatrix Lestrange has turned against him. Our tactics so far have been designed to demonstrate incompetence amongst his followers, not outright treachery, though I think we've done an excellent job sowing the first seeds of it, especially given his paranoid nature. Moreover, this isn't just any Death Eater we're talking about. This is Bellatrix Lestrange. I don't think you will so easily fool him into thinking she's a turncoat. She proclaimed her loyalty to him even after his downfall and went to Azkaban for him. Her faith has never wavered, and he will take this into account when evaluating her loyalty. I assure you, the Dark Lord will have already considered the possibility that other secret organizations are out there plotting against him. He would be a fool to think otherwise. Only by virtue of the fact that he doesn't think any of them are a threat to his power base does he not go after searching for them in earnest. Besides, it wouldn't be a cost-effective allocation of his resources to ferret out every potential threat. No, he will wait until the threats realize themselves in some tangible way, and this is one of them."

The others at the table nodded their assent at Neville's words.

"It is not as uncommon a strategy as some of us may think," Ron added. "Using decoys and subterfuge has been the hallmark of a good Slytherin plan. Making this plan airtight is critical. Therefore, we should always proceed with extreme caution."

"Yes, but how long is this plan going to take?" asked Katie. "I mean, it's been four months and we're still only setting up the pieces."

Ron nodded. "You're absolutely right, Katie. Unfortunately, our plan will take at least several more months of what must seem like a great deal of inactivity. Make no mistake, we're all qualified wizards and witches here, and there's quite a number of us. We know who many of the Death Eaters are and we could probably go after several of them, probably killing or capturing them and extracting enough information to render the Dark Lord's plans useless for the next several months. However, we will suffer casualties if we do this, and we will come no closer to killing the Dark Lord, or even bringing him out into the open where he is vulnerable. You're forgetting one thing about this war, one thing which makes it fundamentally different from every other war in existence. Our enemy can wait. He can wait a great, long time. The traditional rules of attrition do not apply here. We cannot simply waste away his soldiers and hope that, over time, he will grow weak and old and simply lose his will to fight. No, he will only grow stronger, finding more rituals, gathering more information on the dark arts. It does not hurt that he has key allies in the dementors and werewolves and vampires. The dementors are immortal, as far as anyone can tell. Already, they are running amuck in the muggle world, and they will only be stopped once the Dark Lord is defeated. Until then, they will always answer his call. And the werewolves, and vampires are both groups which, if unchecked, could grow their numbers simply by converting ordinary wizards and witches. It will take time breaking the Dark Lord's defenses, because, frankly, he's had decades to build them. Moreover, we've seen firsthand that he can be incredibly cautious and foresighted. he's good at reading people and he possesses what seems like an endless amount of patience. I can't say for sure that our plan, if executed, will break him. It would be reckless of me to promise that, but I assure you, it's the safest at the moment and it has a reasonable chance of success. It provides our fighters with an opportunity to gain valuable experience with minimum risk, which is important for a group as young as us. If we charge in now, we will lose the opportunity to execute this kind of strategy, so it only makes sense to attempt it first and foremost and only upon its failure should we move ahead. I promise though, when we hit an insurmountable wall in the efficacy of this endeavour, then we will switch to a more aggressive, open posture."

Ron's monologue seemed to be enough to satisfy the eight members of the executive council. From there, the group shifted their discussion to finalizing plans on a strike against the Dark Lord's werewolf soldiers, which meant infiltrating some of the werewolf underground, a feat never before having been done successfully. That was mostly because werewolves could tell their own kind from humans and because werewolves were seldom ever keen to rat out their brethren. Remus Lupin was pretty much a lone exception to the rule, which made him distinctly useful to the Order of the Phoenix.

It was mid-January and, while Neville had to admit they had come a long way in fighting the Dark Lord, whether it be from learning complex magics, developing advanced weaponry and uncovering and foiling the Dark Lord's plans, it still did not seem to be enough. He supposed that, on a rational level, it was far more than he could have hoped for. But on an emotional level, it was missing one key ingredient - the thrill of the fight. It was the thing that every good Gryffindor war-soldier thrived on in these sorts of situations. That was why, as he prepared for his part in the covert operation that evening, he reflected on the last time he had gotten in a true firefight - long ago back at the DOM with Harry. Little did he know, he would be in for the fight of his life that very evening.

Lord Voldemort was not a happy camper. He had expected his soldiers to have made greater headway in securing power in the wake of Dumbledore's untimely death. Instead, however, it seemed as though they had grown lax, or lazy or weak or... something. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was definitely a problem in the works. Just what kind of problem he did not know. Admittedly, he had been rather generous upon his return at the end of the Triwzard Tournament and, since then, he had maintained a low key profile. He had not even been the one to dispatch Dumbledore, and, now, months later, he was beginning to wonder if perhaps it had been a strategic mistake not to demonstrate shows of power to his subordinates. It was a simple managerial mistake that needed to be corrected, though he was not quite sure how to do that. All his plans required delicate maneuvers, precision-timing, and impeccable execution. Running around blowing things up was not exactly conducive to creating a muggle-free utopia, which would be overseen by him and his inner council.

Nagini slithered up next to her master, her sleek black head rising up to his shoulder and staring out the window overlooking the main roadway of the new pureblood fortress. Before them, spread out from that hotel room window on the eighteenth floor of the Four Seasons was a city made of concrete, glass and steel. It shone brilliantly under the sun, and was a marvel of the muggles, with electricity available at every turn, ATM machines for extracting muggle money, cars parked on the streets, muggles milling about oblivious to the horror that was above them, going about their daily routine, or at least, what they thought was their daily routine. In actuality, a mass muggle confundus charm had been affixed to the city, turning the muggles pliable and easy to maneuver, effectively making them sheep for the dementors, the vampires the purebloods and anyone else who enjoyed torturing and killing the wretched little things. Technoparc was a magical miracle in many ways.

The dementors were yet another problem. Specifically, the lack of them. It had not gone unnoticed to him that, over the course of October and November and December the ranks of his most feared allies had thinned considerably and were now non-existent. He had considered interrogating them, detaining them, forcing them to do his bidding, all of which was possible, sort of. However, it would have required constant supervision by him personally, for he knew his soldiers were not capable of handling them if it came down to it. Only he, who had taken steps to rid himself of human weakness could endure their presence with ease. As such, he let them be, forcing himself to accept whatever decision they made about their alliance with him. There were certain battles he was simply not prepared to invite. As it happened, they, for whatever reason, had abandoned him.

All in all, his plans were not going according to schedule, and this made him extremely concerned. It made Lord Voldemort ask the question, "Why?" and that question had many answers, none of them good. Had his Death Eaters grown lazy? Had fourteen years of peacetime made them dull? Complacent? Certainly he had expected a great deal more of his inner circle in obtaining the prophecy from a few dratted schoolchildren. They should have executed their plan with greater professionalism. Instead of appearing in front of their enemies and taunting them, they should have simply crept up under disillusionment and bound and stunned them, summoning the prophecy in the process with a simple summoning charm. The stupid children never should have even known what hit them. It was almost as if his Death Eaters permitted the children to have a fighting chance, either because they wanted to enjoy the moment of gloating, or because they weren't really all that interested in fulfilling the task. Maybe some of them were content to return to Azkaban, as it was no longer the feared prison it once was, now that the dementors had left it. Of course, he had chalked it up to the former. But now, he was not so sure. That same level of incompetence was rearing its ugly head once more, and two Death Eaters were even found to be sending suspicious messages to one another. Further investigation had uncovered that one of them was a traitor and the other hesitant. Worse yet, the former had alluded to others that may have been interested in defecting. Unfortunately, the worm knew very little about these others. Still, this apparent, burgeoning conspiracy did not explain everything and that both troubled him and gave him hope. Possibly, there was an elaborate ruse brewing. On the other hand, it could be a combination of treachery and incompetence.

Lord Voldemort briefly considered interrogating and dispatching his known enemies, like the remainder of Dumbledore's Order. In all likelihood, new threats would come from one of them attempting to regroup. Still, it did not seem to be there style.

There is something I am missing," hissed Voldemort. "There must be some piece of the puzzle that eludes me, Nagini, and I do not know how to go about uncovering it."

Nagini turned her burning eyes to her master and replied, "You stand at a crossroads, my lord. If you cannot place your trust in your key enforcers, then you will never stand a chance of taking control of Britain. Every good king needs followers. You will have more to lose if you distrust them than if you trust them and they choose to betray you. Select a cadre of your most loyal servants, outfit them with superior magical protections and send them out to investigate these odd coincidences that befall your children."

"Of course, of course, Nagini. You are correct. As always." Voldemort stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I will trust those who suffered Azkaban for me. As well, I will trust the Colonel. And I will trust Severus, of course, for he has rid me of Albus Dumbledore when the Malfoy child failed to."

"And what of your allies?" Nagini asked, flicking its tongue and turning its gaze down to Fenra, who was stalking the streets, eyeing his next victim.

Voldemort considered him and the others, including the vampires, Banshees and other dark creatures that had flocked to him. "No," he said finally. "I believe this is a task for purebloods. Please, go fetch me a servant and a communication mirror. There is much to do for this new year."

Crabbe Manor, January 18.

Neville briefly took a moment to wonder how things had gotten so fucked up. When he had first walked into Crabbe Manor, he had adopted the superior air of none other than Goyle Senior, intent on spreading a few simple innuendos about himself and Drusilla Knot, a horse-faced woman fixated on gossiping about purebloods. His only aim had been to cause a bit of malcontent within the Dark Lord's ranks, hopefully adding to the atmosphere of confusion and, more importantly, giving Ron and friends enough time to slip in undetected and plant some mild, incriminating evidence that would have traces of both Goyle's and Drusilla's signatures on them, hopefully inciting turf warfare between the Death Eater's and fueling the Dark Lord's paranoia.

Neville had been practicing the big, dumb and ugly look for some time, and had perfected the combination for this very event. He had greeted Mrs. Knot with a an extra long glance, a touch of the hands, a compliment about her hair; just enough to make people wonder a little bit. It was when he was talking to Crabbe, espousing the virtues of a woman in a tight little black dress, all the while making suggestive glances Drusilla's way that there was a really big explosion, causing the large, oak double-doors to the dining hall to shatter in a fit of splinters and dust.

Hermione dropped down from a dead oak, her bare feet silently striking the thick blanket of soft January snow, her now black eyes glistening with unrestrained power. Standing in the pitch black dark under a clouded, moonless sky, her unnatural black eyes caught sight of every movement in the impossible blackness. She felt the sting of the wards buzzing around her, trying to understand what manner of creature was she, what kind of blood was it that coursed through her veins. She was unlike anything that had ever existed before, or at least in the last two thousand years. She was a queen. With an idle flick of her arm, she cast a legilimantic wave, using it much like a sonar to ferret out the location of any living creature within a fifty metre radius. There was nothing, which satisfied her immensely. Briefly, she considered taking the time to dismantle the inner detection wards, which would surely alert the inhabitants of her imminent arrival, but she dismissed the thought after some consideration. It would be too easy if she killed them outright, when there was so much to be gained by testing her new skills in open battle. Unconsciously, her right hand formed a tight fist in anticipation, letting out loose waves of unfocused mind destroying energy.

Oh yes, she was going to have some fun.

Ron, disillusioned and obscured under a kevlar flak jacket, along with Katie and Terry, oozed their way silently through the halls of Crabbe Manor. Their target was Crabbe Senior's private study - the one not even his own family was supposed to know about, but which the Phoenix Army had gotten wind of through a seemingly innocuous reference stored in one of Goyle's memories. The halls were dark and quiet, the only sounds the occasional snore from a picture, the occasional candelabra coming to life in response to their passing. As they moved to the third floor, making their way to the far end of the hall where a secret stairwell brought them down back to the second floor, they heard the faint tinkling of wine glasses from somewhere down below.

"We must be just over the dining hall," Terry said speculatively. "Interesting. It may be that our resident Death Eater has some sort of spying ward which he can use to capture sounds and conversations playing out down below. This way, he can find out what all gossip is going on amongst the Death Eaters."

"What are you suggesting?" Ron asked, quirking an eyebrow in Terry's direction.

"Bug the bugger," Terry replied simply. "We can deploy our kevlar shielded transmitters. Not even the Dark Lord will be able to detect them, and it will afford us valuable information that we can use to further disrupt the inner circle."

"Go ahead with that," Ron said, conjuring several patroni to illuminate the office as he looked around. There were a myriad of important documents that Katie began copying using a charmed still camera. Duplication charms and other recording devices all had the drawback of leaving signatures that would alert any competent Death Eater to their intrusion. by using magical duplication methods that were indirect and integrated with muggle technology, they had discovered a way to do things that their enemies could not even begin to fathom. After thirty minutes of combing through Crabbe's belongings, and gleaning whatever information they could, the trio then began inserting innocuous items that were really spying devices. The coup de gras was the secret compartment they built into one of the walls, filling it with information about times and dates and people whose names were coded. Careful cross-checking and analysis of the data would uncover certain key patterns that would lead any forensic analyst to the conclusion that a small sub-ring of individuals had formed together and were holding secret communications. Even better, Goyle would be returned to the fray with a memory charm that was self-inflicted to protect him from the Dark Lord's legilimancy. It was hoped that, eventually, the Dark Lord would turn a scrutinizing gaze to the thug of a Death Eater, and, once uncovering the incriminating information within the memory charmed area, would then eventually be led to the documents in Crabbe Manor.

"All right," Ron said. "Looks like we're done here. Let's grab the crystals and extricate ourselves from the area before the ward displacement field collapses."

However, before they could move, there was the distinct sound of an explosion from below, causing all three of them to freeze in mid-stride, turning their attention to gleaning whatever information they could from the sounds emanating below. At first, all they could hear was a ringing silence as the pieces of the large oak doors settled against the plush carpet floor. It wasn't long before there was shouting, which turned to screaming, which turned to shrieking, sobbing, moaning, begging.

After a time, Katie simply turned to her companions and said, "What - the - fuck?"

"Ron shrugged. "I have no clue."

"Me neither," Terry said, but already his keen mind was constructing a solution. "Let's leave the crystals in place and try to activate the spying ward. It might give us a clue as to what is happening down there."

Within moments, they had managed to generate a television like screen that was showing them exactly what was going on, and, frankly, it wasn't pretty.

In the doorway stood a very peculiar sight. It was a woman; a young one with long, shining brown hair that seemed to cause the very light around it to dim or, possibly, shy away. She wore tight fitting muggle clothing, a black tank top with spaghetti straps that showcased her lean frame, her strong shoulders, her tanned skin, graceful arms, the seductive curve of her neck. She wore tight fitting black gloves that went all the way up to her elbows, a wand casually held in one hand. She wore tight fitting black pants and black boots. All in all, she cut a wicked sight, though to a pureblood, it was not very impressive.

Crabbe Senior rose to his feet, clearly being responsible for dealing with an intruder on his premises. "May I help you?" he inquired with a curt tone.

"I heard there was a party this evening," the stranger asked, apparently oblivious to the scrutiny of all the rich and powerful purebloods before her. She merely eyed them all with a look that said: You're all clearly lacking.

It took Neville a good long moment of staring before it finally dawned on him just who was in front of him. It couldn't be, he thought dismayed. She's taller, she's tanned, she's got hair that isn't bushy.

"I think that perhaps it's best if you leave," Crabbe said, narrowing his eyes. With a wave of his hand, he called to arms many of the guests sitting there, each of whom stood and drew their wands.

Hermione merely smiled. "I thought that perhaps I should introduce myself, at least. Perhaps then you will show me some respect."

"And who are you?" called a Death Eater.

Hermione smiled a beatific smile and said, "I am the Dark One."

Neville couldn't help but feel a terrible chill run down his spine at that pronouncement. He knew without a doubt that the buck-toothed, bushy-haired brunette from Gryffindor Tower was disturbingly brilliant, and that she wouldn't show up to such a place without an incredibly good plan in operation. The fact that the plan appeared to be nowhere in sight only disturbed Neville that much more.

"Sounds like a filthy mudblood," called another. There were titters amongst many of the other guests, who were clearly amused by the show that was unfolding.

Hermione simply continued to smile, again making Neville all the more concerned. You fools, he thought. You're signing your own death warrant. For God's sake beg for redemption now.

Instead, Hermione cocked her head to one side and suddenly, standing next to her was the most dangerous looking creature Neville had ever seen in his life. Even the Hungarian Horntail that Harry took on in the Triwizard Tournament didn't have the fearsome predatory presence that this creature had. It stood five feet tall with midnight black hair that had the same disturbing effect that Hermione's hair had. Moreover, it had the most intense eyes Neville had ever seen, and rippling muscles over every inch of its body.

Crabbe, having enough of this, aimed his wand and said two simple words. "Avada kedavra." Neville supposed, in that brief moment as the green light of death crossed the gap between Crabbe and Hermione, that it was not a surprising response. clearly, Crabbe had to assert authority, and casting a spell that the girl could block would simply be bad form and would invite questions about his skill and power. After all, she had clearly penetrated the wards without having alerted anyone. Or, on the other hand, she had simply tripped them and maimed the dozen or so attack dogs and acromantulas that Crabbe used to defend his ancestral home. At any rate, Neville was that much more surprised when Hermione did not move an inch to get out of the way of the deadliest curse known to wizarding kind. Instead, she simply looked bored, and waited, all the while her faithful familiar stepping in between to intervene in the killing curse. Funny that she should be so willing to sacrifice it, he mused. Except, of course, when the curse hit, it merely crackled and fragmented into a hundred tiny green sparks that fizzled out against its body, leaving a shocked silence in the wake, the creature all the while emitting a low growl that put Neville's nerves on edge.

Hermione laughed a musical, tinkling sort of laugh that did even less to ease Neville. And then, with a casual wave of her left hand, something seemed to pass through the air, and, before Neville knew what hit him, long forgotten memories of a crackling amber light bearing down on a young woman and young man came crashing into his mind's eye. And, as that terrible light connected with their bodies, a young and beautiful version of Bellatrix Lestrange standing silhouetted against the setting sun, their shrieks began to ring out in Neville's mind, causing him to clamp his hands over his ears in a futile attempt to block out those horrible memories, he no longer even being aware that he had fallen out of his seat and had slumped onto the floor like so many others around him. Somewhere in the back of his consciousness, he heard Hermione say in a soft, caressing voice, "Go forth, Azrael, and kill them all."

Soon, in addition to the shrieks of torture in his mind, were the sounds of shouting and screaming and the ripping sound of bodies being torn apart by the powerful jaws and forearms of that hulking beast. Intermingled with that was the sound of spellfire, as some of the guests had somehow managed to evade or defend themselves against the legilimantic onslaught. Neville heard the sounds of all three unforgiveables being fired in rapid succession, and only by virtue of the fact that they were still being fired was Neville able to conclude that Hermione was still fighting back.

"Where is the boy?" Bellatrix asked, continuing the stream of energy that was inflicting terrible agony on Alice Longbottom. "Tell me, Frank, or your precious wife here will become just another casualty in the war."

Frank struggled to sit up, his entire body shaking with the effort from his own exposure to the Cruciatus, and from the knowledge that the woman he loved was being driven insane. He looked from his wife to Bellatrix before fixing his blue eyes on her violet ones. In a strangled voice he said, "Go to hell," all the while, blood dribbling down his chin, his breath ragged from the effort.

Neville struggled to his knees, his entire body racked with shudders as he tried to force the stream of words and images from his mind. He knew what this was; remembered it from the days back in third year when dementors had roamed free on Hogwarts grounds in search of the infamous escaped convict Sirius Black. While he didn't know how Hermione was causing this effect, or doing it with such force that it was incapacitating him in a way that the dementors in his third year couldn't even do, he did know that the only way to repel the effects was to cast the patronus, and so, squeezing his eyes shut to blot out the stream of tears, forcing the images of his parents out of his mind for just a brief moment, jus long enough to see Luna's smiling face, their first tentative kiss, the feeling of connectedness and of warmth, of purpose for existence on Earth, for a reason to fight the rising dark, for just that brief moment where Neville's will could overcome the otherwise engulfing despair, he managed to aim his trembling wand and whisper, "Expecto patronum." A silvery mist coalesced before his very eyes, taking the shape of a crumplehorn snorcack, its enormous, protuberant eyes looking up at him, waiting for instructions on how to proceed. With his patronus now between him and Hermione, Neville felt his mind clearing from the haze of repressed memories, images of his parents' torture dissipating back into that dark fog. He looked around, and saw that several dead bodies lay scattered about, many of them in varying states of mutilation. Five Death Eaters were left fending off attacks from Hermione, the others, presumably, had either apparated out or fled to other rooms in the Manor. Neville, not really sure how to proceed, simply edged his way towards one wall and elected to sit out of the fight. Frankly, he wasn't even sure which side he wanted to see win in this battle. He supposed that, at the end of the day, he would have sided with Hermione, for she had always been kind to him, minus that one exception where she cursed him towards the end of first year.

Still, she wasn't exactly herself.

Neville noted that Crabbe was still standing, along with Macnair and three Death Eaters that Neville did not recognize, though Crabbe's wife had not survived, her throat having been torn out by Azrael. One of them had had the sense to conjure a patronus, and it was now standing between the five of them and Hermione, who looked mildly irritated at the fact that her secret weapon had not been foolproof. Her familiar stood next to her, clearly prepared to act as a shield in the face of any damaging spells that were sent her way. Hermione seemed to eye them speculatively, as if wondering where to begin.

Eventually, she smiled and aimed her wand and said, "Avada kedavra." The green light scattered her opponents to either side, exposing them to her Dementor-hand, effectively crippling them. The other three were most likely competent occlumans, because it appeared that they did not need the assistance of the patronus to focus on the fight, though Neville noted that they were not moving with the practiced ease that they ought to have been.

The fighting started in earnest, spells flying back and forth at an alarming pace, Hermione firing off two or three spells at a time with one stroke of her wand, her body reacting with uncanny precision to oncoming spellfire. She was able to conjure a shield wandlessly while still throwing out numerous hexes, often times, banishing nearby objects at her opponents, sometimes transfiguring them into two separate objects so that the Death Eaters had to throw themselves out of the way. Before long, two were dead and only Crabbe remained, his wand arm a bloody stump, his breath coming in shallow rasps. Hermione walked up to him and aimed her wand and said without hesitating, "Avada kedavra."

And so, Crabbe Senior was no more.

That pretty much left Neville alone in the room with her and her familiar, and, realizing that he was pretty much in deep shit, decided to simply come out and face the music. He was a Gryffindor, after all.

Hermione turned to him and eyed him the same way she had eyed many of her foes that evening; in a speculative, calculating, appraising sort of way.

"So," Neville said. "How have you been, Hermione?"

She seemed amused by his words, though Neville couldn't quite understand why. Then she said, "I didn't think a Death Eater would deign to know my name. Especially given that I am a mudblood."

"Ah," Neville said. "Of course, of course. A Death Eater wouldn't. You should know that things are not always what they seem."

"So you're not a big fat oaf with about ten seconds to live?" Hermione asked.

Neville smiled. "I can't let you continue this, Hermione. It's wrong. I have no doubt you're a superior dueller, but the Gryffindor in me won't really back down."

Hermione nodded, thinking to herself and then, finally, looking up into his brown eyes and saying in a matter-of-fact tone, "You're Neville Longbottom."

Neville was surprised to say the least. He wasn't quite sure how she had managed to deduce that, but it didn't really matter, since it wasn't changing her attitude any. She only fixed her gaze on him more intently as she said, "So be it. Prepare yourself."

They dueled. It was, just as Neville had predicted a rather short affair. He sent off a simple stunner followed by the full body bind, after which he was forced to drop and roll to one side, avoiding a series of black beams of energy that caused whatever they touched to shrivel up, whether it be the carpet or wood or stone.

"Protago," Neville said, lifting up his shield to ward off the incoming spellfire. Within a second, however, his shield was collapsed and he was throwing himself out of the way of yet another onslaught of curses, using every magical charm he could think of to simply raise objects in defense, including chairs, tables, knives and other silverware and dishes, all the while his patronus was keeping the Dementor-wolf at bay. Before long, Neville was hit in the wrist with a red light that sliced clean through his skin and bone, severing his hand from his arm. He cried out in pain, reflexively clasping his bloody stump with his good hand, curling up on the floor, shutting his eyes out to the tears that were overflowing, the sudden rush of images of his parents' torture filling his mind's eye. You're going to die, he thought sadly, sorry that he had not yet mustered up the courage to tell Luna that he had loved her; sorry that he had not done more to avenge his parents.

Before the deathblow could come however, Neville's vision cleared and he found himself pressed up against two warm bodies. Blearily looking around, he saw Terry and Katie dragging him to one side, vanishing his remains, including his now useless hand. Absently, he noted that his wand had been snapped somewhere in the process.

"Come on, soldier," Katie whispered in his ear, taking care to keep Hermione in her sights at all times. "We're getting out of here right away." Before Neville knew it, the three of them were portkeyed clear out of Crabbe Manor and back to Hogwarts.

Ron spent a long time just staring at the magical viewscreen that showed them the slaughter that was going on down below. Ever since that fateful day in September when he had come upon Hermione's Dear John letter, he had resolved to put her out of his mind. Since then, she had only resurfaced in the dark of night, when his mind's defenses were slurred with drink, sometimes they were fantasies of love-making, romantic professions of eternal love, sometimes they were nightmares; all the time, a gnawing heartache. Now, however, he felt only a cold sort of distance, not because he didn't love Hermione, for he knew in his heart of hearts that he would always love her, but because this person who walked with that lithe grace, whose hair was sleek and curled around her shoulders, whose eyes were obsidian chips - that person was not Hermione.

Eventually he said, "We need to get down there ASAP." Ron peeled his eyes away from the viewscreen and captured the attention of both his lieutenants, making them aware through his gaze the import of the situation. Every second that passed, Neville drew that much closer to death.

"We'll need to double-back and take the back stairwell downward," Terry said. "At least five minutes."

"No, wait," Katie said, drawing her wand and aiming it at the floor. "To hell with that. Let's just blow a hole through the bloody ground and jump in. Neville doesn't have five minutes."

Peripherally, Ron could see that Neville was clearly losing the fight. No, Neville hardly had thirty seconds. Making a snap decision, Ron said, "Clear the center of the room and move to the far wall. Terry, you're going to have to erect a shield, while Katie and I pound a hole through the ground. Katie, we'll need to make our first hit good and hard, because we'll be alerting her to our presence almost immediately."

Without word, they got to work, clearing the center of the room and positioning themselves as Ron had instructed.

"Ready, boss," Katie and Terry asserted, their iron focus and determination a testament to just how far they had come in the last two weeks.

"All right," Ron said. "Just one more thing. When we get down there, you two go directly for Neville and extract him ASAP. Leave her to me."

Ron was aware that both Terry and Katie were hesitating at his last command. "But-" they began to protest, but he immediately waved their concern away.

"That's an order, lieutenants," Ron said, employing his most authoritative voice.

Still, they did not acknowledge his words. Instead, Katie and Terry exchanged a look, silently communicating something before Katie stepped forward and put a gentle hand on Ron's arm. "Captain," she said gently. "I think, maybe you're a little too close to this. maybe, one of us should stay behind. We have the pistols. One shot and she'll be down for the count. It's the right way to do this."

Ron stood motionless for a long time, various emotions struggling for dominance on his features. Deep down, he knew that Katie was right; that the being down there was as dark as they come, and if he let her go, all their work against the Dark Lord Voldemort could be for naught, for they may simply pave the way for her ascension to in his stead. Still, it seemed wrong somehow to kill her outright, without even asking her a few simple questions. You want to know why she left, a voice inside him whispered softly. That is what this is about. You want to hear it from her first; you want to give her that chance, a chance to help your broken heart heal. Your heart won't let you believe what your mind already knows. Such is the way of things.

"Please," Ron said finally, his voice soft and strangled. "Please."

Ron was barely aware that Katie and Terry were exchanging silent words with another, debating about whether to force Ron to stand down temporarily. In the end, however, they did not. Katie merely gave Ron a curt nod and got into position.

A crater-sized hole was blasted through the stone and carpet, sending debris into the dining hall below. From the viewscreen they could make out where the hole was situated relative to the combatants, and, without further hesitation, they silently dropped down into the fray.

The dining hall was a mess of blood and bodies and debris of all kinds, ranging from splintered chairs and tables to broken glass and twisted metal utensils. Despite the silencing charms on their boots, each of the three soldiers of the Phoenix Army made crunching sounds as they came into contact with the ground, effectively drawing Hermione's attention, and, thus, by extension, Azrael's.

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at the new arrivals, a smile playing across her lips, indicating that she was clearly unimpressed by her new adversaries. As such, she said in a clear, authoritative tone that brook no arguments, "Surrender your wands and I'll let you live."

Neither Katie nor Terry nor Ron took their eyes off either Hermione or Azrael, aware that the slightest degree of uncertainty could spell the end for them all. They simply remained motionless, keeping their hands on their wands, spells ready on their lips, occlumancy shields at high alert.

"Oh please," Hermione said, seeing that they were not prepared to surrender. "I just sent a hundred fully trained witches and wizards fleeing, many to their deaths, and I have your little friend here in my custody. Be serious now. This is not a game."

Terry and Katie spread out to either side, creating wider targets. Hermione merely rolled her eyes and raised her Dementor-hand to crush them. Ron, having watched Hermione do this in the battle earlier, anticipated her attack and silently summoned three patroni to guard himself and his two soldiers. A stag followed Katie, a wolf himself and a grim for Terry.

Surveying the three protectors, Hermione shrugged. "That is rather impressive, all things considered. Looks like you've been holding out on me, Ron."

"You don't have to do this," he replied. "We can talk it over, maybe-"

"Avada kedavra," she said, cutting him off. The green light sped towards Katie, and Ron wondered if perhaps Hermione recognized her as some sort of distant competition for Ron, because she was clearly a lesser target than Terry, who had an array of objects at his disposal around where he stood, which he could use to fight with. Also, Terry was aligned along her non-dominant hand, giving him a slightly better angle with which to fire.

Regardless, Ron's patronus jumped into the air and caught the killing curse, effectively annihilating itself in the process. Both Katie and Terry fired off stunners, which Hermione parried, sending them back at one another, who in turn raised shields to return them yet again to her, sending off yet more stunners all the while dodging to either side as Hermione discharged the cruciatus and a legilimantic wave at Katie, who was now unprotected.

Ron raised the Aegis shield, effectively repelling the wave, which broke against its surface like waves against the cliffs of Dover. he also conjured three saber-toothed tigers and sent them at Azrael, effectively pinning the creature in one corner, its golden eyes burning with unparalleled hatred at having been immobilized.

Hermione discovered to her rage that she had her hands full with Terry and Katie, who had grown to become accomplished duellers. Moreover, her added weaponry - Azrael, her Dementorhand and even the unforgiveables had been rendered useless so long as Ron was able to continue summoning patroni at will.

"Exsanguio," she cried out, switching from wordless to spoken spells as her patience wore thin. A jet of blood red light erupted from her wand and barely missed Terry as he maneuvered himself to one side. She sent a chorus of bone-shattering curses their way, all the while dodging stunners and body binds with her wolfen grace. Before long, Terry and Katie had sidled up next to Neville casting a patronus to help him overcome the effects of Hermione's Dementor attack and dragging him away. Without hesitation for their leader, who they were confident could survive an encounter with Hermione, they portkeyed away to safety. Ron, meanwhile, had been busy studying Azrael with academic interest. From what he could tell, the creature was a mutant - a hybrid of some sort, probably between a large wolf and a dark creature. Most likely something undead, since it withstood the killing curse. "Diffindo," Ron said, slicing into the creature's shoulder and watching curiously as a viscous black ichor oozed from the wound, which almost immediately healed itself. "Heightened regenerative capabilities," he said to himself. "Balks at the patronus, like dementors and lethifolds." Could she have crossbred a dementor or a lethifold with something else? Ron wasn't sure if they could even reproduce sexually.. No, he decided. She must have simply extracted their magic and transfused it into another creature. It must be dementors, he thought, for it would also explain her hand.

His musings were cut short when he felt the energy of a dark curse barreling towards him. Immediately he apparated out of the way, the Cruciatus annihilating one of his patroni. With only two left, Azrael, his strength magnified by his rage, broke free from them and charged towards his mistress to await her command.

"Bit of a deadlock we have here, don't you think?" Hermione called to Ron, who reappeared twenty feet from her. As if to exemplify the problem, she cast a black beam of energy right at Ron who parried it with a white shield. Hermione then went on speaking, "There aren't many people who can execute that spell." Ron wasn't sure whether she was referring to the Aegis shield he used or the strange black energy she discharged. Both, probably, he thought, having read that light magics embodied by white light are the antithesis of dark magics, which are embodied by black light.

I suppose you're thirsting for an explanation, aren't you?" she asked with disdain and contempt in her voice. "You were always such a sheltered sod, Ronald. If you'd had half the trials Harry had, maybe you would have learned to do a bit better in your life."

"I'm not sure who you're trying to fool here, Hermione," Ron said. "I know exactly who I am, and I'm sorry for you, because you chose the Dark over your friends. Over me."

"It really wasn't a choice," she said casually. "You have no clue what it is that the Dark can offer you. It's unlike anything else in the world.. It's the march of entropy. It's the reason time moves forward." After a moment, she added. "You can join me, you know. We could be together, ridding ourselves of the purebloods. I could overlook your heritage if you performed a test of loyalty. You could still have me, put your hands on my body, fuck me again and again. You've wanted that, haven't you? We are like two halves of a whole. I admit I'll never be immortal, or even the most powerful witch in the world. I have no illusions about it. But certainly, I will be powerful enough, and the time that I spend on this world will be one filled with the blessed energy of magic, rich and full and bountiful."

"I see," he said, furrowing his brow, forcing his mind to accept that she was a lost cause.

Hermione scrutinized him intently and then said, "It looks like you're not going to join me. No matter, I didn't really expect it of you, Ronald. You're a pureblood, after all, and you've bought into all that nonsense about the ways of things. You couldn't understand the way things truly are, mired in your traditions."

Ron discharged a beam of white light at Hermione, who parried it with a translucent black shield. "Just checking, are we?" she asked. "I suppose it's only fair, though you know neither of us will win like that. No, you're powerful, I know, and so am I. This will be won with applied spells, not displays of raw power."

"Fair enough," Ron replied, keeping his gaze fixed on her, prepared to adopt a dueling stance at any moment. Silently, he gathered the four remaining patroni to him, enfolding them about his body like the wings of a protecting angel.

"En garde."

They duelled.

The battle was long and fierce. Ron started by discharging a mixed throng of high-powered stunners and beams of raw light energy, forcing Hermione to maintain a constant shield to deflect the attacks, all the while Ron sending his patroni to charge Hermione at full speed. Not knowing what capabilities Ron's patroni had, she elected to throw herself to one side and apparate just as another stunner converged on her spot. Azrael took a running leap and sailed over the patroni, clearing them and making a dash for Ron, who had anticipated a pincer just as Hermione had disapparated, thus deciding to disapparate himself, causing a cruciatus to pass through the space he had just occupied and strike Azrael, who shrugged it off. Ron had moved to the far side of the room, appearing in a relatively empty spot in order to gauge his surroundings. Hermione had appeared relatively close to him, which he supposed was not surprising, since Azrael was expected to draw his attention momentarily. As such, his opponents stood in the center of the room while he and his patroni were at opposite ends. At this long range, he doubted he could do anything to harm her, and he didn't fancy apparating much closer. After a moment, he decided on a course of action, sending a reductor curse to a table, blowing it up into numerous shards that he then sent using a standard wind charm blowing in her direction. From there, he disapparated thirty feet into the air, snagging the chain of the hall's main chandelier with one hand and aiming several stunners down below where Hermione was shielding herself from the flying debris. It was a clever move, and it would have worked, except that the chandelier proved unstable, buckling under him and snapping from his weight, sending him flying off to one side while the large glass and metal object came crashing down on top of Azrael, who howled and bucked about. Ron fell neatly on top of his four patroni, who had all converged on one spot, forming a thick sort of buffer that broke his fall. He staggered to his feet and immediately erected a shield that only partly held, as a red beam clipped him in his arm, causing all the blood to drain from the limb, either partially clotting in his shoulder or bursting out of the skin and forming multiple bruises on his arm. Hermione was recovering from a stunner, which had pegged her clean in the head, causing dizziness but not Unconsciousness. Ron hit his arm with a mild healing spell that calmed the inflammations and recirculated the blood.

Azrael seemed to have grown a backbone, because he was now fighting full on with the patroni, tearing through them with his ferocious jaws, all the while suffering through the multitude of lacerations they were inflicting, lacerations which were healing rapidly due to the creature's regenerative abilities. Like a werewolf, he thought wonderingly before returning to his duel with Hermione.

She had charmed several knives to act as bludgers, homing in on Ron's signature and attempting to carve him like a roast. He cast a quick reductor at the nearest one before disapparating, avoiding another hit with the Exsanguination curse, aware that a full on strike would be lethal.

She's somehow immunized herself from stunners, he thought. Switching to body binds, discharging three of them before disapparating right behind her. Instead of discharging a curse, however, he erected a shield, taking a gamble that she wouldn't use an unforgiveable or that she wouldn't use raw energy. Whirling around with feral speed, she aimed a reductor curse right at him.

"Reducto!"

"Protago!"

Hermione's eyes widened as she realized that Ron had anticipated her move, intending to send her curse back at her. The reductor curse, bounced off his shield at an angle and hit Hermione in her non-dominant shoulder, blowing it apart and causing her to stagger back. Before Ron could take advantage of her distress, however, Azrael pounced, having shredded his patroni. Ron, not wanting to give up his quarry, cast a raw beam of energy at the creature, praying it would be enough to stop it in mid-flight. The white beam connected full on with the creature, causing it shriek in pain. However, it continued onward, carried forward by its own determination and by its momentum, barreling into Ron and throwing him down to the ground, his wand scattering to one side. The creature, shook himself from the pain, blood and fur spilling down its face from where the light energy had struck it. Ron, however, was prepared, pulling out his pistol and driving the magnum's barrel into the creatures neck and pulling the trigger, causing blood to explode all over himself and the surrounding floor. The creature roared with rage, stamping its feet down on Ron's body, cutting into his skin with its claws, bruising him repeatedly and fracturing a rib bone. Ron managed to wriggle out from underneath, lodging six more bullets in Azrael's body before staggering away and collapsing next to his wand. Hermione, seeing her familiar mangled by a pistol, crawled over to him and began applying healing charms. Ron dragged himself to a sitting position and reached for his wand. However, before he could, it was drawn forward by a summoning charm. Oh no you don't, he thought, lunging for it as he took the cruciatus curse. He collapsed on the floor writhing, his mouth clamped shut to instinctively keep from screaming, despite the fact that he was chewing through his own tongue to do so, his arms flailing about more and more wildly until his muscles, which were stretched taut, began to break and weaken, his body going limp and unable to express the agony of his flaming nerves. Vaguely, he realized he could feel his wand within arm's reach.

Oh God, please stop, he thought weakly, lamenting his own ineptitude praying for a quick death, like all Cruciatus victims do when they're in the throes of agony. Not able to summon enough energy to flail about, he instead turned to clawing at his own skin, running long jagged lacerations across his arms and body as if to cut apart his nerves, which felt as though they were stretched taut and being plucked with butter knives; as though his skin were covered in a thin film of glass and he was desperately trying to peel it off, not caring that his own skin was being peeled back along with it, letting blood leak out and soothe the burning sensation around the edges of the multiple wounds.

Finally, it stopped, but not because of any mercy bestowed upon him by his opponent. Hermione seemed unable to keep up the spell, blood still flowing freely from her mangled arm. She took a step back to reclaim her balance, shutting her eyes to regain focus, giving Ron just enough time to recover and clasp his wand.

Azrael was on the floor twisting about futilely, unable to extricate the ten or so bullets that were lodged in its body, preventing him from healing completely, probably causing all kinds of spasming of his muscles and all kinds of internal irritations and recuttings as they shifted about with each of his movements.

Ron, his hand trembling aimed another stunner. It was weak, to say the least, but it did have the effect of knocking Hermione off her feet. She fell to her knees, administering a charm on herself, which seemed to give her strength. She had somehow stopped the blood flow, and was peering at Ron as if seeing him for the first time. "Ronald," she said in a whisper.

"Hermione," he replied, his words coming out mangled as blood flowed from his half-chewed tongue.

"Avada kedavra," she whispered, green light flowing forward.

"Aegis," he said instantly, absorbing the curse.

"You're really amazing," she continued, as though she hadn't just tried to kill him a second earlier. "I'm sorry we're on opposite sides. I love you. I really do. I want you to know that, but I love the Dark more, and if I had to choose between it and you, then I choose the Dark. I'm sorry."

"I know," Ron said. "I can admit that I have cried for you, for having lost you, but I won't be so foolish as to throw away the light or the cause just because the woman I loved turned dark."

"Why not?" she asked curiously.

"The woman I loved wasn't dark. She was changed. You're not her. I'm sorry."

"Still, it's power," she went on. "Look at what I have done tonight. Who else as done as much as me? The Dark Lord could never stand a chance against us."

Ron laughed a sad, bitter laugh. "If you think that, you're a fool. If we turn Dark, then the Dark Lord will have already won. One day, he will own you, Hermione."

Ron's words rekindled her anger anew, and for the first time, Ron understood the driving emotion behind Hermione's darkness. It was not that she sought to build an empire, or to acquire as much wealth as humanly possible. It was not so that she could inflict pain on others, or that she wanted to live a life of ease. It was not that she wanted what others had, or that she was lustful. No, it was the same thing that had driven her all those years in school. The thing that had made her cheeks tinge with the colour of roses when McGonagall praised her, or she got points in Charms or when Snape looked over her potion and failed to find any failings. It was the satisfaction from her successes; it was her pride. The Dark was simply a challenge, and it had drawn her in.

Ron got to his feet, as did Hermione.

"Shall we continue then?" she asked in as nonchalant a voice as she could manage.

"I guess so," he agreed.

"Incendio."

"Fluvius."

Reducto."

"Obfusco."

"Exsanguio."

"Constrctus."

"Revello."

"Eviscero."

"Protago."

"Contortia."

"Excelsia."

"Impedimenta."

"Relashio."

"Razurra."

"Probitas."

"Feror."

"Veluti."

All around them spoons and dust and table legs flew about, whipped into the air in a frenzy of magical torrents, all the while Hermione and Ron limping about one another performing a macabre dance, transfiguring wood into walls and weapons, blowing things up, sparks flying, stone dust reigning down atop them from above. Glass slashed apart Ron's shirt and chest and arms and legs, burns formed on his body, blood dribbled down into his eyes. Hermione was faring no better. Her face was a mask of dried blood coated several times over. Her non-dominant arm had been further shredded to ribbons, her clothes torn, a rib broken, her hair cut apart and sticking to her body wherever there was still fresh blood spilling.

Still they fought on. A chunk of stone exploded from behind Hermione, pelting her exposed back with stone shrapnel. A table came to life next to Ron, a table leg winding around his ankle and breaking it before he could blow the thing apart and send its pieces flying at Hermione, all the while discharging multiple beams of light to keep her shields occupied. Splinters of wood slashed her face. "Reducto." Ron's broken ankle became a bloody stump.

"Incendio." Hermione's bloodied hair caught on fire.

"Flagrate." A burning x seared itself into Ron's chest.

"Brio." Hermione was blinded in one eye.

"Depilate." All the hair was ripped from Ron's arm.

Ron was then caught in the side with a blasting hex, blowing apart skin and bone. Hermione was hit with a reductor curse, shattering one knee. She summoned knives in her direction, many of them embedding themselves in Ron's back, pitching him forward, but not before he took control of the summons and continued the rest onward, many of them embedding themselves in Hermione's chest and legs, pitching her backwards.

Ron struggled to get to his feet, but found that he couldn't. Mostly because his body was screaming all over with wounds, and because he was lacking one foot, which had been blown apart earlier. Before long, he passed out; as did Hermione.

A/N: Of the twenty-two chapters that I have written thus far, this is my second favourite. Also, for those of you who are wondering, "Where in the world is Harry Potter?" Let me assure you, the story of our intrepid hero will commence in the chapter after next.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Lord Voldemort Strikes Back

January 22.

It had gotten to the point where Lord Voldemort was downright baffled. The only thing that made sense now was that, either there were well-coordinated, multiple factions working against him or there were traitors amongst his group. The Crabbe Manor fiasco was the last straw. Reports of some strange dark witch slaughtering a bunch of his supporters was weird enough. Add to that the myriad of other coincidences, plus the giant hole in the ceiling that led into Crabbe's private study, of which Voldemort had no prior knowledge, and discovering items of great concern that implicated certain individuals, made for a story that he did not like very much. As such, it was time to execute one of his more complex strategies. The difficulty with traitors is that they often had to perform multiple calculations in their head when dealing with high activity environments. As such, Lord Voldemort had constructed a series of fast paced raids designed to test both indirectly and directly the loyalty of his followers. In the wake of Crabbe Manor, he also resolved to oversee some of the raids personally, observing some of his soldiers and also to demonstrate his power to both the public and also to his subordinates. It was time he exercised his considerable magical power.

January 31.

Minerva McGonagall was just sitting down to have a cup of Earl Grey and re-read an old Sherlock Holmes novel that happened to be a favourite of hers, soft rabbit hair slippers on her feet, a fire in the fireplace, snow gently falling outside under a star-speckled night sky, when suddenly the flames in her fireplace turned black, immediately catching her attention. She had seen all colours of floo travel in the past, ranging from red to green to purple. Albus had apparently even used a canary yellow once, but she had never seen black, though reports of it had once reached her ears. It meant only one thing; it was the Dark Lord's personal floo powder, reputed to be capable of cutting through nearly any floo ward in existence.

McGonagall's first action was to transform into a tabby cat, at which point she fled towards her bedroom in search of her wand, silently cursing herself for not keeping it on her. Her acute cat ears caught the sound of movement behind her and her whiskers picked up the feel of magic closing in. A summoning charm, she thought, racing that much more quickly and then transforming as she crossed the threshold of her bedroom, throwing her body out of the way of a killing curse as she closed her fingers around the familiar wood of her nine inch wand, pivoting in mid fall so that she could make an arcing motion in the direction of her assailant, turning every portrait and loose object into red-winged orioles. Red-winged Orioles from Canada, no less.

One of them was immediately blown apart by a blasting hex and another was hit with the imperius and sent to fight off the others. Minerva, collecting herself and nursing a sprained ankle, searched for assailant through the haze of falling red feathers as the birds chirped and fluttered about aimlessly in her bedroom. With her wand, she sent the birds flying out of the room and hovering in the hallway, hoping they would act in a manner that would clue her in to the number of her assailants. She briefly considered jumping through the window and making a run for the edge of the anti-apparation ward, but immediately discounted it as a feeble hope. All she would end up doing was breaking her legs on the fall downward.

A streak of purple light hit one of the birds, causing it to fly drunkenly for a moment before collapsing to the ground. That was definitely a dark curse, she thought, seeing another beam of light, this one blood red, hit yet another bird, causing it to explode in a fit of feathers and blood. Two more well placed blasting hexes destroyed the last of the bipeds. There must only be one attacker, she thought grimly, not sure whether to be thankful or disturbed. Whoever it is, the person would have to be very skilled to be expected to dispatch her. If it were recruits, she might have been able to simply slink by as a cat and avoid them altogether.

It was a surprise to say the least when none other than Severus Snape stepped into the doorway of her bedroom, his fathomless black eyes boring into hers, his mouth stretched tight in a look of grim anticipation. "Severus," she said instantly, fighting the instinct to lower her wand, which came from the years of professionalism she had ingrained in herself when dealing with colleagues. He's not a colleague, however. Remember that.

Snape only responded by sending the killing curse at her, which she promptly dodged by transforming into a cat and then dashing under the bed, transforming back while still underneath the bed, and coming out laying flat - a trick she had developed herself through long time experience mastering her field. She then eyed Snape's black boots as he tried to execute a summoning charm for the cat, discovering to his dismay that it wasn't working, because the cat had transformed, something he wasn't quite able to believe. Sensing that his robes had been charmed against transfigurations, but that his boots weren't, she quickly hit them with a spell, turning them into ice skates that promptly had Snape going, "Wha?" as he came crashing to the ground, his wand skittering from his fingers. She then hit him with the tickling hex, effectively incapacitating him as she transformed back into a cat and made a break for the exit. Once down the stairs, she transfigured back, and then transfigured the stairwell into a mass of sharp knives jutting in all directions, hoping that would keep Snape at bay while she escaped.

However, it was not meant to be. In the living room, just as Minerva was grabbing her pot of floo powder, she saw the flames in the fireplace die, and a network of ice patches form in its place. Severus? she thought, whipping around in search of her attacker. No, it wasn't Severus. She had effectively dispatched him it seemed. The person that was sitting casually in her favourite armchair, watching her with an amused smile was none other than Lord Voldemort himself, his hands idly crossed together and resting comfortably on one knee, as though he were preparing for an interview.

Minerva was struck speechless. "Tom?" she asked in a quiet voice.

Lord Voldemort's smile broadened. "Indeed, it is I, Minerva."

Those red eyes, she thought, feeling suddenly entranced by them. Before she knew it, her whole life seemed to be playing before her eyes, all her thoughts, all her knowledge and secrets and wishes and dreams and emotions were surging upward, like a great tide. "Tom," she managed to say again, as she fell to her knees. "Tom, stop." But the person known as Tom did not stop, for he could not hear her. In fact, he was no more; only Lord Voldemort stood in his place and he was not the kind of person to take orders from lesser beings. No, he continued to consume her thoughts at an alarming rate, effectively crushing her mind beneath his will before killing her with a simple bludgeoning hex to the head, leaning her body out so that the tip of her skull was near the mantel place and then apparating through the anti-apparation wards, as though they weren't even there. when Severus made it downstairs, he found her lying sprawled on the floor, a bump on her head, not a trace of a magical hex or curse on her. Assuming she had simply fallen and brained herself on the edge of her stone mantel, he left.

Lord Voldemort stood on the sands of a great, grey beach. It was no ordinary beach, for it led to the island prison of Azkaban, an enormous stone structure that stood like a monolith in the centre of the island, beset on all sides by countless protrusions of rock and dead bodies of those few foolish enough to try to escape. Lord Voldemort took a moment to marvel at the taste of cold magic in the air. It was rich and thick and swam about aimlessly as if it were the most natural thing in the world, pooling about his body, bouncing off and coming back, ripple after ripple, drop after drop. He had never realized just how magically intense the island was, never having set foot on it before. Perhaps I will make this my new home, he thought. The magic of Hogwarts paled in comparison to the magnitude of what stood before him. No wonder people fear this place, even today.

Lord Voldemort walked down the long, white path through the beach and continued straight up to the front gates, two guards standing to either side.

"Halt!" one of them called when he was no more than ten feet away. "Who goes there?"

"It is I, Lord Voldemort," said he, standing alone against the great wash of the sea, the sand the clouded skies, that foreboding fortress. One man, who could hardly be called a man at all anymore; the one who would bring order to chaos. The Dark Lord.

He could see that the two guards, both of whom were old and grizzled and dangerously alert, exchanged a swift glance imperceptible to normal eyes. They are both occlumans, he mused, watching them attempt to sound the alarm. Lord Voldemort's wand was suddenly in his hand, and the green light of death was flowing forth like a river, travelling at unusually high speed, driving the first soldier into the wall so that his head cracked open on the jagged stones.

Sirens were raised, the sound of inner gates being closed reverberated through the stone, sand and sky. The other guard sent two dark spells Voldemort's way and called up a torrent of sand to wash the Dark Lord, or, at least hold him off until reinforcements could come. Lord Voldemort merely stood there, casually flicking his wand back and forth, parting the rising sand like the red sea, sending both curses off in either direction. Let them come, he mused. Let them come and watch as I dispense my wrath upon thee.

The guard sent a silver shaft straight at Voldemort, who stopped it in mid-flight and reversed its magical polarity, sending it like a homing beacon back to the caster. The guard nimbly dodged out of its way, but the spear merely angled itself en route and plunged into his chest, ripping to shred his heart and leaving a pool of growing blood on the front steps of Azkaban.

Ministry aurors were pooling around him to either side, no more than two hundred feet away. They do not dare open the gates to me, he thought. They know what folly it would be. But this pincer attack will not serve to do either. With another wave of his wand, two silver boulders were conjured to either side of him. He then disillusioned them both and banished them to either side of him, turning his interest from the soon to be maimed aurors to the seemingly impenetrable door. Wards, he thought. Funny things they are, being based on magic. Lord Voldemort annihilated them with a few strokes of his wand, and then hit the front door with a Reductor curse so powerful, it reduced iron and stone to shrapnel. He then walked forward, the cries of those ill-fated aurors to either side of him ringing out in the afternoon sky, drowning in the rush of ocean waves and the call of the gulls over the open waters.

Azkaban was breached.

The prison foyer was surprisingly banal looking, with offices and magical paper airplanes and what not floating about, waiting to be used by clerks and other assistants. The three or four personnel that should have been there had clearly been evacuated immediately by the sound of the alarms. That hardly bothered him, for they were not really his concern. No, he was here to simply walk the halls and look around, killing anyone who dared come near him. Eventually, he supposed he would go and look at the inner sanctum and investigate the ward stones used to power and maintain the wards. He would probably want to alter them so that he could walk freely and without having to constantly manipulate his energies to keep them from detecting him. But for now, he was content to let them come to him. At the very least, they would not be expecting it.

They think I am here for my soldiers. They think I am here for Lucius, and will operate accordingly. As such, instead of making his way to the maximum security wing, he decided to take a stroll down the minimum security area and see what kind of ruffians the Ministry was holding. Perhaps he would garner a bit of support from the disenfranchised. The halls in the lower part were deathly quiet save for the distant sound of alarms, shouting and footfalls. The halls were dark, the walls stained with the taint of dementors, thin films of light oozing through cracks, from between window bars, glinting drops of water trickling down shadow-darkened crevices.

It would make a good dungeon chamber, he thought, looking around at the haggard faces, many of the prisoners still haunted by the days when dementors patrolled the halls. They all watched him curiously, without fear or anger or hope. Many of them did not seem surprised that the dreaded Dark Lord, the thing that was a bogeyman to most of the wizarding world, was standing not five feet from them, eyeing them speculatively.

"So," he said, looking down at the nearest prisoner. "You are the infamous fiends of Azkaban. The detritus that society has locked away. For their own safety, of course. You are the forgotten."

"We don't want any," one called, his hazel eyes burning with intensity as he looked into the Dark Lord's face. "Go back to whatever hole you crawled out from under."

Lord Voldemort turned his way and gazed upon his emaciated form for a long time, and then, as if hit by a sudden thought, began to laugh an eerie, high-pitched sound. "I remember you," he said, calming himself down. "I murdered your family, and you sought revenge against me. You killed one of my soldiers."

The man said nothing.

"Funny that I stand here on this side of the bars, while you rot there."

"Take us with you!" another shouted. "Please! We will serve you! We will do anything, yes I will! O Lord, free us!"

At this proclamation, some of the prisoners cheered, and others booed.

Lord Voldemort ignored the others and instead chose to focus on the man who had just spoken. He smelled rank, his body had lost a lot of weight recently, stretch marks around his belly and upper arms giving him a particularly wretched look, with his clothes hung in tatters and bags under his eyes. He did not, however, have the taut, wasted look of a man exposed to dementors. "What is your name?" Lord Voldemort asked.

"My name?" he responded, seeming surprised that the feared monstrosity would actually deign to take an interest in him. "why, it's Bert. Had me a friend, here, but they's killed him, yessir. They's just up and murdered him. Kicked 'im tah death."

"I see," Lord Voldemort said, considering his words. "And you want revenge, don't you?"

Bert nodded.

"You want to cause them pain, make them suffer, right?"

Bert again nodded.

"Tell me, do you know what the Cruciatus is?" he asked.

"Tis a pain curse," Bert said reverently. "Tis the greatest of 'em all. I will use it on my enemies."

Lord Voldemort shook his head. "No, it is not a pain curse, I'm afraid. It is quite different from that, though pain is an integral part of it. It was created long ago, by some of the greatest light wizards; light wizards who could have rivaled Albus Dumbledore. It was used to heal people."

Bert looked as though he were trying to figure out where the joke was. "But, sir-"

Voldemort cut him off, continuing as though he hadn't spoke. "Everything has an opposite. The Cruciatus is a spell of many contradictions. Do you truly wish to join me, Bert?"

Bert nodded.

"Will you take the mark and bear the consequences of all that it entails?"

He nodded again, still sure of himself.

"So be it," Lord Voldemort said. He looked around and said to the many watchers. "Watch and learn and see how Lord Voldemort repays his soldiers." He drew his wand and cast the Cruciatus on Bert, who promptly began writhing and screaming on the floor. He held the curse for a long time, each minute ticking past, the others growing more and more uncomfortable as they watched some of the most gruesome torture known to wizarding kind unfold before their very eyes. Bert had raked away most of his flesh with his fingers, clawing out his eyes, spitting bits of chewed pink flesh that many of them soon realized was bits of tongue. After the five minute mark, Bert stopped screaming, his voice having been lost to him. He continued to flail about and moan and writhe and whimper and cry and cut himself with his own nails, continually grating at the wounds, smearing his blood all over himself until he looked like a baby that had just popped out of its mother's womb, all wet with blood and saliva, its face scrunched up into a permanent look of agony, its flesh all hanging about its body uselessly. Lord Voldemort continued the torture him until Bert was completely silent, until his eyes stopped fluttering, until all the twitching ceased, until the drool stopped dribbling down his face and all the muscles that were once taut from pain slackened, and then he simply continued to apply the curse for several more minutes, long having since past the point where Frank and Alice Longbottom had been driven insane.

Some of the prisoners had begun mumbling to themselves and shying away from the Dark Lord, terrified of drawing his attention, not wanting to suffer Bert's fate. But then, as the curse continued to be applied, as they entered into the twenty-fifth minute of its application, something peculiar seemed to happen. Bert's wounds seemed to heal at an unusual rate so that, no more than five minutes later, he seemed whole again, his body no longer evincing any signs of the Cruciatus, even though it was still being applied with the same intensity as when he had started the treatment. Instead, the look of fatigue, of emaciation, of depression and melancholy and starvation were stripped from him, leaving him pink and healthy, much like a new baby. On the thirtieth minute, Lord Voldemort ended the curse, leaving a silent, unconscious, yet perfectly healthy man lying on the floor amidst the wreckage of human life that was the lower cell of Azkaban. He then went to the unconscious figure and knelt down, pressing his index finger into the man's forearm and whispering, "Morsmordre." The skull and snake etched itself onto that clean skin and lay there, a mark that would stay on the man's soul for eternity. Lord Voldemort stood once again and left the cell to stand in the hallway, from which point he turned back to Bert and enervated him.

The prone figure climbed to his feet, his mangled clothes falling about him in ribbons, his naked body exposed for all to see, his eyes glistening with vitality. Bert smiled a cold, Death Eater smile. He was a new man.

Nymphadora Tonks was scared shitless. She found herself standing deep within the shadows of the lower dungeons, watching with horror as Voldemort initiated his new recruit. Bert Munchausen, if she remembered correctly; Ron had been the one to apprehend him, and Arthur had called her in to smooth over the administrative details. It was both horrifying and fascinating to watch the process that led to Bert's transformation. Whatever it was that Lord Voldemort did to him, whatever way he used the Cruciatus seemed to require an in-depth knowledge of its properties - something she doubted anyone in the whole of the British wizarding world had knowledge of, except for the snake-like creature not twenty feet from her. Apart from renewed vigor, Bert seemed to move with a new sort of grace, as though he had been given animal instincts, a feral violent streak, as though his moral sense had been tainted. He snapped up a nearby prisoner and crushed his throat with his bare hands, drinking his victim's blood as it oozed from the neck. Bert then walked over to Lord Voldemort and kneeled in a show of subservience and gratitude, declaring his allegiance to all the other prisoners.

"Behold the greatness of your Lord," replied he. "Go forth and kill the aurors that roam this place. Collect that which is rightfully yours, dispense your wrath upon your captors. When I am ready for you, I will call you, and you will come to me, my loyal servant."

Nearby, Tonks saw that Shacklebolt had arrived, his dark eyes keening the landscape for threats and advantages. He saw her and made a hand gesture, indicating that there were aurors on the other side of the hall. Tonks acknowledged his statement, and then he made a gesture, indicating that they were all going to fire on the count of three, to which Tonks nodded, readying her wand and focusing her attention on the display before her.

Three, two, one.

Wordlessly, she shot a reductor curse at Voldemort's legs. Shacklebolt, meanwhile, sent a complex imprisonment field. Two more curses came flying from the other end, one being a dark curse that Tonks recognized as the Lutefisk curse, which saturated the body in lye, and the other was the Exsanguination curse, which caused blood to exit the body through the nearest orifice.

Lord Voldemort merely made a zigzagging motion with his wand, effectively reversing the polarity of the imprisonment field, turning it into a shield that caused the dark curses to go flying back in the direction from which they came. The reductor curse, on the other hand, had gotten past the shield and hit Lord Voldemort on his shin, causing him to grimace, before regaining his equanimity.

Shacklebolt wasted no time cancelling the shield and firing off numerous basic attack spells, mostly reductor curses. Tonks followed suit, hoping that if the four of them battered the Dark Lord enough, he would simply cave in under the pressure. The other two aurors from the other side followed suit, and suddenly, like machine gun fire coming from all sides, the Dark Lord was being forced to evade spellfire and erect shields to protect himself. Occasionally, a reductor curse made it through, but it only ever hit his torso or legs, never his head or hands or feet.

"Reducto."

"Reducto."

"Reducto."

"Reducto."

All four aurors fired curses simultaneously, having driven the Dark Lord off course, and effectively pincering him from all sides, all the spells converging on his position. He stepped into the path of one of them, taking it full on in the chest, his clothes long ago shredded, his pale skin bruised wherever he had been hit with the curse. He then, in a masterful feat of coordination, said, "Protago," erecting a simple shield that he used to not just block, but deflect all three incoming reductor curses straight at Tonks, who immediately dodged out of the way of one of them while throwing up a shield to protect herself from the other two. The first reductor curse dissolved her shield, leaving her exposed to the last one, which Kingsley redirected using a spell-attraction charm. Voldemort took their moment of inaction to focus his attention on the other two aurors sending his own reductor curse. The auror dodged out of the way, firing back. Voldemort sidestepped the oncoming spell, letting it pass in the direction of Shacklebolt, who had to jump out of the way as well, at which point Voldemort made a sweeping gesture with his wand, transforming every prison bar in the hallway into three-foot long pit vipers.

All four aurors stopped to take a moment to appreciate the magnitude of the transfiguration prowess and magical strength involved to execute such a massive transfiguration.

"Kill them all," Lord Voldemort hissed, making all the spectators and the aurors shudder at the sound of the ancient language of snakes.

In a flash, he had effectively turned the table against them, forcing them to defend rapidly against the sixty odd snakes that were now dogging them at each step. Shacklebolt erected a large, transparent shield, and two illusions, while Tonks continued to discharge a battery of blasting hexes, all the while being forced to retreat slowly, often having to jump out of the way of their poisonous fangs. The other two aurors had taken the brunt of the snakes, and screams of pain could be heard, the constant throng of spells from that side of the room being snuffed out as they were effectively dispatched.

Having completely forgotten about the Dark Lord, Tonks was completely unprepared for the reductor curse that blew apart both her legs in one fell swoop, crippling her, sending her screaming to the ground, tears spilling down her face, which was contorted into an expression of agony.

Blearily, she saw Shacklebolt summon two snakes to take two killing curses before firing off a reductor curse and transfiguring three of the snakes into birds that flew towards Voldemort. Tonks gritted her teeth and pulled herself to one side, taking aim with her wand and doing the only thing she could think of to help them escape. She hit Lord Voldemort in the legs with the Trip Jinx, causing him to fall over, a momentary look of surprise crossing his features as he hit the ground.

Shacklebolt followed with the killing curse, having finally twigged into the fact that reductor curses were virtually useless against the Dark Lord. However, one of the four remaining snakes jumped in the path of the spell, taking it full on. They retreated around their master to protect him as he picked himself off the ground, each of them giving up their momentary existence for each of Shacklebolt's and Tonks's spells. Voldemort conjured a shield to absorb two magical fire curses, both of which harmlessly lit his shield on fire and were extinguished within moments.

More aurors came flowing down the steps from either end, having realized from the heavy spellfire the location of the intruder. "It appears my time here as almost come to an end," Voldemort said, batting away more spells and summoning a human to intercept another killing curse. "My, my, auror. Using unforgiveables. Not very appropriate, is it?"

Lord Voldemort began rapid firing killing curses at the aurors, who struggled to dodge out of the way in the narrow hall, many taking refuge in the cells along with the prisoners. With nearly a dozen aurors now on his heels, sending curses of all kinds and colours, Lord Voldemort took a running leap, his robes billowing about him as he threw himself past Kingsley, who also had to dodge the incoming spells, which flew harmlessly by overhead. The onslaught continued, but Voldemort began bringing the ceiling down on their heads, the trembling stone and unearthly squeal of metal and rock grating together, making the aurors and prisoners nervous. With a final jab of his wand, large cracks began forming in the walls, Lord Voldemort dashing up the flight of stairs and disappearing as large chunks fell on the hapless wizards, many of whom had begun fighting with the prisoners who were trying to take their wands.

From there, Lord Voldemort moved relatively freely through the halls of Azkaban, freeing his soldiers one by one, exterminating with efficient ease any of the aurors that tried to intercept him and blowing apart the walls, smashing the keystones that held the prison together. It would have been nice to use the fortress as his own private dwelling, but he had, somewhere along the way, decided that it was no longer feasible, and instead, returned to his original plan of simply destroying it. Perhaps I will build something new in its place, he mused. That probably made more sense anyway. So long as he did it swiftly, so that the lingering magic did not dissipate.

"Rise, Lucius," Lord Voldemort commanded, blowing apart the door that held his loyal subject in solitary confinement. Lucius did so, an air of regality still clinging to him despite his bedraggled appearance. Lord Voldemort gave him a wand and said, "I have cleared the way for your exit. I trust you can make your way to someplace safe. Go, clean yourself up and I will call for you in the days to come."

"Of course, my lord," Lucius said, prostrating himself and kissing the hem of his master's robes. "Thank you."

Lord Voldemort freed all of his servants that day, and many more who would, in the coming months, join him for the final battle. He stood atop the island fortress, having just cleared away the top floors. From his vantage point, he could see the rolling waves for miles on end in all directions, his red eyes feeling the life teeming in the air and the ocean, the magic rising and falling like a sleeping giant. He put his wand back in its holster and stood, arms splayed out to either side, his back arched, and he began to chant. Using his body like a giant magic conductor, Lord Voldemort began sapping the energy from the air, and transmitting it into the fortress, cracks forming as the pressure of the magic being forced through its body causing it buckle and give way. Minute by minute, his body lighting up like a jack-o-lantern, raw magic like electricity crackling across the surface of his skin, the rumbling beneath his feet growing louder, Azkaban began to break apart, chunks of stone falling away, tumbling to the rocks and sand below, smashing into them, kicking up dust into the evening air. The rumbling intensified until it became joined with a cacophony of squealing, the drowned out shouts of soldiers down below trying to extricate wounded and fallen comrades, victims of the Dark Lord's wrath. Plumes of dust and rock chips floated on the wind, cracks forming, the energy of all the magic being focused through his body reverberating, lifting up, energizing, illuminating, crushing bits of metal, pulverizing them into long thin strings like noodles.

Within minutes of the raging torrent of energy that sent whole prison cells jettisoning into the sky, crashing distantly into the waters, holes appearing in the prison, one entire wall coming apart and careening toward the beach below, an avalanche of stone and metal, within just minutes, Azkaban was no more. And there stood the Dark Lord, amidst the rubble, his body losing that strange luminescence that made his blood and the network of veins beneath his skin visible, his eyes regaining focus, his arms coming down to relax at his sides. He walked across the wreckage, his boots crunching against the debris in the ensuing silence, marred only by the ever-present waves in the distance. Lord Voldemort left.

March 1st.

Ron sat, staring out the library window, wondering how he was supposed to feel, what moves he was supposed to make. Nothing seemed right anymore. It had been six weeks since his encounter with Hermione, though he had only been awake for the last five, and functional for the last four. Overexposure to the Cruciatus, among other things, had put him temporarily out of commission. Since that day, his life seemed to have taken on new meaning. The slow approach of spring, the return of birds chirping in the blooming trees, the shining sun, the melting snow and burgeoning grass all seemed to be part of some sort of world that was outside his reach. He felt he could see all those beautiful things, nature, art, the passion and love between young idealists, in sharp relief, with a clarity he never before had, but still he could not take them into his arms, to hold them, to feel a connection to any of it. It was like he was disconnected, like somebody had turned the power off to his heart. With a swish of his wand, a field of patronus lilies grew out of the pools of snow outside, Katie and Terry oblivious to them, holding hands, feeling a great contentment with one another, reminding Ron acutely of his true love, the woman who tried to kill him not two months ago.

"Mind if I have a seat?" Neville asked, coming up next to Ron.

"Sure," he replied, not taking his eyes off the picturesque tableau outside.

Neville pulled out a chair and sat down, fixing his gaze at first on Ron and then on what it was he was looking at. After a time of sitting in companionable silence, he said, "She loves you, you know."

Ron thought it was a decidedly odd thing to say, and rather cruel, all told. "She has a funny way of showing it, trying to kill me and all."

Neville nodded, expecting that response from Ron. He then went on, "I wasn't talking about Hermione."

Outside, Terry lifted Katie into his arms and swung her about, all the while she laughed and patted feebly at his shoulders, begging him to stop. Terry had a crazy, goofy grin on his face, and when he stopped, he put her down on the ground so they were inches from one another, the heat of their bodies evident in the cool spring air. He leaned in and kissed her, and she melted into that kiss, her arms remaining by her side.

"She won't wait for you forever," Neville said. "Nor would anyone expect her to; or want or think she should. It would be crazy to pin your hopes to a dream."

Don't you know, Neville, Ron thought bitterly. I must be crazy, for I am still pinning my hopes to a dream. But then you already knew that, didn't you? "I know what you're trying to do, Neville," Ron said. "Thank you, but, I think I just need a little bit of time. That's all."

"Mate, you've had a month to work through it. It's time to move on. I'm not saying you should shag the next girl you see." Neville fell silent for a moment, contemplating his next words. Finally, when he spoke it was with a sad sort of reservation. "When I came back that night, I was in a right fit. She made me relive the night my parents were tortured by Lestrange and Crouch. I toggled between wanting to cry and wanting to go half-cocked in search of her, for doing that to me. For the first time, I put somebody higher up on my to kill list than the Dark Lord and Bellatrix. It took nearly two days to realize that I didn't have a hand. Whatever curse she used magically destroyed it for good. I guess that's what made it a dark curse. She took away my ability to cast spells."

"What are you trying to say, Neville?" Ron asked. "That she's evil? Well, jeez, thanks for the tip. I had no bloody idea. I'll keep it in mind the next time she's cruciating me."

"That wasn't my point," Neville said, retaining his composure. "With my wand hand destroyed, I felt useless. All I could focus on was the hate and the pain, and you know what? I loved it. I loved the feeling of my own sorrow; after years of struggling to keep up with you guys, after years of telling myself I'll catch the ones who did this to my parents, it finally felt good to let it all go, to wallow in it. In the end though, it wasn't very healthy for me, and I may very well have just offed myself in one of the unused classrooms, never to reappear again. It was Luna who finally pulled me out of my depression. She showed me that there were reasons to live. She showed me what it meant to fight for a purpose that was good and pure. I know what you're going through. You were fighting for Hermione; somewhere in the back of your mind, she was the reason you got up in the morning, practiced your spells, double-checked your maps, reigned in your temper. I know that feeling now. You wanted to keep her safe, for her to be proud of you. You fought for many things." Neville leaned in close, his blue eyes burning intently into Ron, whose gaze was finally drawn by the intensity in Neville's words. "I'm here to tell you, Commander, that those things are still out there. Love is still out there; reasons to fight have not gone away. They're there waiting for you. The reason you can't enjoy those things is because you've isolated yourself from them. It's time you tear down these walls. There are too many people counting on you, me and Luna included, and you need to start counting on us too, in all the ways that matter."

Neville, having said his peace, stood abruptly and left Ron there to continue ruminating, heading back to the potions laboratory where he could perform his duties - the one place where he could still be of assistance in the war.

A/N: Hi all. Well this is it. The last chapter before we return to find out what's going on with our intrepid inter-dimensional traveller and his three tag-alongs.

On a slightly related note, I had expected a few people to make suggestions about the kinds of things they would like to see. Some have suggested things like "more Harry", which I am now going to oblige. Initially, I had intended for him to simply return from his adventures abroad, but I got the sense that people would rather I not leave such a large lacuna in his development. From here on in, we'll be returning to the previous summer and chronicling Harry's adventures so that he can be brought up to speed with the current timelines for Ron and Hermione. Before I get too far ahead in the writing of the story, are there any things that people wish to see/ do not wish to see transpire? Pairings? Deaths? Redemptions? I'm only asking because I'm considering some pretty strange things, and I figured I would give you a chance to have a say before I decide. Otherwise, as far as I'm concerned, you forfeit your right to complain later.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I don't own any of it.

A/N: Hi all. I wanted to clarify some issues relating to the timeline so that you don't all get confused. There have been a couple of comments regarding it. If you feel you have understood the story perfectly thus far, then feel free to disregard this note.

Chapters 1 through 6, the first discrete chunk of the story took place from mid-July to early August.

Chapters 7 through 15 went from mid-July to March in roughly chronological order, though often times switching POVs as I went along. Regardless, there were large gaps in time between chapters.

For the following, we're going to jump back to early August to pick up where we left off at the end of chapter 6. The next several chapters will bring you up to speed on what's been happening with Harry over the same period as chapters 7 through 15. Again, there may be some POV switching, and there may be jumps in time, but everything should be again, in roughly chronological order.

Hope that helps.

Chapter Sixteen

Harry in Wonderland

Harry peeled himself off the forest floor, peering about in the forest gloom for signs of danger. His wand was in his hand, a curse was on his lips, his stance a predatory one. Where the hell am I? he thought, his eyes keening the environment for some kind of familiar element. Unfortunately, there seemed to be nothing.

Out of nowhere, Harry felt a large body of limbs come crashing down on top of him. If he weren't slated to be murdered by the Dark Lord personally, if it hadn't all been foretold by a person who could only be described as a crackpot in a chance encounter of fate, then the combined weight of Tom, Minnie and Kittie flattening him to the ground probably would have killed him. However, at the present it only served to break both his legs.

"Arrgghh!" Harry shrieked, wailing and floundering incoherently from underneath his would-be travelling companions. "Ger off!" he managed, thrusting all three of them to one side as they themselves attempted futilely to right themselves. All except Minnie, who seemed to have whacked her head on Harry's shoulder and was out cold.

"Oof!" Kittie managed, landing on her butt in a patch of cold mud. Tom, as usual, seemed the least fazed, having used whatever inner grace God had bequeathed upon him to retain his ever-present composure. Immediately, he extended a hand to Kittie to help her up, which she took gladly, immediately letting herself be folded in his arms to absorb his warmth, to enjoy the feeling of protection that his encircling arms gave her.

Harry, meanwhile, moaned pitifully on the ground, the adrenalin from the perceived assault receding, leaving him acutely aware of his grievous injuries.

"Oh, Harry!" Kittie exclaimed, finally realizing that Harry was not in the best of shape. "Oh my God! You're - your legs!"

"Mmm," Harry managed to say, all the while on the cusp of swooning.

"That really doesn't look very good," Kittie said dubiously. "Marv, what do we do?"

Marv knelt down and examined Harry's form more thoroughly, poking and prodding as though he were a veterinarian and Harry were a street dog on death row. "Harry?" he asked in a measured tone.

Harry did not respond.

Marv gave Harry a gentle push, and, when Harry did not seem to respond to this, simply pushed harder, all the while speaking to him in staccato bursts. "Come on Harry. You need to stay with us. You're going into shock. Listen, Harry, come on." Marv motioned for Kittie to come closer and said to her. "Start talking to him. We need to keep him awake or else he may slip away from us."

Whether it was Kittie's faith in Marv or her own nervousness, she complied without question, immediately talking to Harry about various things, ranging from describing the trees to how bad he looked.

"You're going to have to tell him something that energizes him," Marv said, still focused on wiping blood away from his legs and gently resetting the bone and pressing down on any spots where blood was pouring out. Truth be told, Marv had next to no clue what he was doing, and all his knowledge on the subject of modern medicine came from NBC Primetime. He only hoped that Harry's considerable magical core would guide him through most of the work. It had been one of the first things that Tom had studied after expanding his repertoire of dark arts spells. He had wanted to know exactly how muggles differed from wizards, and he had not been disappointed, when he found out that magical persons lived much longer and had high resistances to physical damage and virulent pathogens; not to mention swift and sometimes miraculous recoveries. That That knowledge had led Tom to one of his more salient transformations.

"Dammit, Harry. What the hell is wrong with you?" Kittie reprimanded, taking on the role of bad cop. "You've got a bloody war to wage. Come on, soldier, get up. What the hell good are you like this to anybody, your family, your friends, all the people out there counting on you to stop Voldemort. What the hell would Sirius say? Hmm? Come on, Harry, I know you can do it, you're strong. Stronger than anyone I've ever known. You've got a resolve like steel, and there's no way a little thing like this is going to slow you down. My God, man, get with it."

Despite their feeble efforts, Harry remained on the blink of collapse. Strangely enough, in his semi-conscious state, he was surprised that it didn't hurt as much as he expected it to. He was aware that his legs had been broken, mostly by the audible crack as he fell to the floor at an odd angle. He had even felt his own blood pouring out of his leg, and remembered on a muggle television show that there was a major artery somewhere on the legs, making him idly wonder if one of them had been punctured. His slick hands certainly felt well coated, abnormally so. Funny, he thought, staring up at the dark canopy of foliage, the sun barely visible, showing up only in the occasional beam of light. It was hypnotic somehow, watching the beams shine down from different spots as the sun slowly trekked across what Harry imagined was a clear blue sky. Maybe I've walked into heaven, he thought. Just then, squinting and looking up, he saw a peculiar shape descending down upon them. It looked like a giant, multi-pronged claw, its hand all black and matted, its prongs tittering in anticipation. It's death, he decided. Death has come for me. It's time to finally find out whether I'm going to heaven or hell, or possibly being reincarnated as a flobberworm.

When the reaper finally came, he saw that it did not in fact go for himself, but it instead went for Kittie, who began screaming, her eyes widening in terror, her head suddenly unable to move as her body was half lifted into the air. That's odd, Harry thought, looking at it. The hand of the reaper looks a lot like... Aragog? Marv seemed to have gotten a wooden stick and was trying to prod the black thing into releasing Kittie, who continued to wail and plea, though Harry couldn't quite make out the sounds, since they all seemed to come from across a distance, as though they had to shout over the din of a raging river. Clearly, Marv was losing his battle with the creature, and Kittie seemed to be looking less and less alive as each minute ticked by. Harry couldn't help but notice that yet another creature was approaching from the side, and it looked to be heading toward Marv. He knew from past experience that he should be feeling a wave of panic, that adrenalin should start pumping, that his magical senses should be queued, that he should be alert and diving into battle, as long as he had strength to draw breath. However, that flight or fight response did not seem to be being engaged. Marv had to abandon Kittie as he futilely defended himself from the second attack, his eyes flicking to his beloved every chance he got, Kittie seeming not to have much fight left in her, though to her credit, she did manage to scream quite a bit.

Somehow, Harry knew that what he was seeing was wrong. In fact, it was rather irritating. Wasn't he the one that God was supposed to be killing? Why were they going after the bloody sidekicks? Harry dragged himself to a sitting position, aware that the pain was slowly returning as he fought to get a grip on consciousness, and not caring in the least. Those are my friends, aren't they? he wondered. What the fuck am I doing lying around like a cripple watching them getting eaten by acromantulas? Harry patted himself down and, upon feeling the familiar stick of wood, extracted it and pointed it at the eight legged abomination that now had Marv pinned, its pincers clicking furiously as it savoured its victory. Harry smiled a cold, ruthless smile as he too savoured his moment to destroy the creature. You're so going down, buster, he thought. In a soft voice that belied the deadliness of his intention, Harry issued one word, "Reducto." A clear, focused beam of light erupted from his wand and pegged the creature clean in the abdomen, blowing it apart from the centre outwards, causing blood and guts to spray across the trees and leaves on the far side of the clearing and causing its many legs to fly apart and fragilely spear the surrounding dirt and vegetation like lone, furry black arrows.

Not hesitating in the least, Harry pointed his wand toward the tree line, made a quick, unconscious calculation regarding the trajectory of his spell and then said, "Diffindo." An arc of light again shot out of his wand and struck the silk thread that was wound around Kittie's midsection, causing her to fall momentarily, before she became suspended with a simple levitation charm. Harry guided her down and then cast yet another reductor curse at the acromantula, except this time it missed, the spider having retreated beneath the first layer of branches. That was probably not a good thing, he mused. Critter's gonna go for reinforcements, most likely.

Harry took a moment to survey his surroundings. He even strained his neck to check to see if there were any hostiles behind him. Thankfully, the spiders seemed to be travelling in pairs. Marv, who was now sporting a decided limp, had gone to Kittie and was checking her over, his fingers gently brushing the hair back from his eyes, the sound of his voice soft and delicate and coming out in caressing, loving tones. Kittie, for her part, seemed to be untouched. Unlike Marv and Harry, who had both been bloodied, Kittie seemed to be relatively intact. Only her apparent disorientation indicated that she had been near death.

"She's been poisoned," Marv said, coming to examine Harry. It looks like the acromantula injected venom right into her spinal column, and its slowly causing paralysis."

"Mmm, that's not a good thing," Harry said, flopping back down into a prone position. Harry chose to stare up at the floral ceiling, his mind blanking out on any good plan of action. He supposed he was tired. The day had been a long one, and it just didn't seem to be ceasing. Between the torture, the multiple revelations with Marv and then dealing with that ground beef monstrosity, Harry was coming to the end of his rope. Now this, stupid, stupid acromantula crap. He inwardly groaned. And it was seriously not over anytime soon. "We've only about five minutes before they return, I reckon," he said finally. "We'd better get a move on." Harry dragged himself back up to a sitting position, seeing Marv's nod of assent as he continued to minister over Kittie's twitching form. Harry aimed his wand at Kittie and said, "Mobilicorpus." Kittie promptly rose into the air and hovered there comfortably, as though she were resting on a bed. Marv nodded and came over to Harry, asking, "Can you do that to multiple people?"

Harry nodded, adding Minnie to the list of floating bodies. "I could, but I can't do it to myself. It's highly unstable."

Right, right," Marv said, sighing and running his fingers through his black hair. "I knew that."

"As loathed as I am to suggest it," Harry said, "you're just going to have to carry me."

Marv seemed to consider the proposition, glancing from Kittie to Harry and then off into the distance, his mind turning over any alternatives. Finally, he said, "I just wish there were a faster way. We don't even know what direction to travel."

"I would have been able to apparate," Harry said, "but I'm not sure if I can do it like this. Besides, I wouldn't know where I'm going. It's only now starting to dawn on me that I'm not exactly in Kansas anymore." Harry let out a bark of laughter, which echoed unnaturally in the otherwise silent forest. "Here I thought I was going to find my way home." He shook his head ruefully. "Come on. We don't have much time."

With that, Harry levitated Minnie as well, and the intrepid young adults made their way westward toward what they hoped was the beginnings of civilization.

It turned out that they were not in the Forbidden Forest as Harry had initially suspected. Not that it was a surprise they weren't, since they had started out in England, and it was unlikely that they would have been spatially displaced as far as Scotland. Marv had pointed out that temporal displacements tended to cause shifts in straight lines and that long distance displacements would have put people deep into the bedrock, as the planet was spherical in shape. Marv had also gone on to explain that, apparently, though Harry couldn't quite believe it, despite having vague memories from elementary school on the subject, that the planet was actually in motion, at a speed of twenty-seven kilometres per second, not to mention the fact that it was rotating. Marv had gone on to explain something about magical theory, and its relationship to gravitational forces, or, more specifically, the fabric of space-time, which was intricately connected to magic in ways that scholars could only speculate. Harry had tried to follow the monologue turned lecture, but was having a great deal of difficulty, though Marv was proving to be an excellent instructor, once he gained a better sense of Harry's level of knowledge. Harry supposed he wouldn't have started paying mind to Marv's info-dumping, if it were not for the fact that he was being carried like a star-crossed lover in Marv's arms. Marv had taught Harry an obscure anti-pain charm, which Harry began doling out liberally, though with the admonition that, unlike healing spells and potions, it did not cure the pain but simply made the sufferer oblivious to it. That had instigated yet another lecture on the importance of pain as an indicator of dangerous activity.

Fortunately, Kittie seemed to have ended up pacified into a slumber that did not look lethal, though neither Harry nor Marv were prepared to start counting chickens. It was still not clear whether she would have full mobility, regardless of treatment. At the very least, they had to accept that, if there were long term effects from the exposure, then she would have to endure them, because magical help was not forthcoming. On the upshot, their spider problem did not manifest itself again.

Eventually, with the sun setting to the West, they managed to reach a roadway, Harry having been consistently using the Point Me Charm to maintain a straight line. Marv had also helped Harry to conjure some pumpkin juice and sandwiches, which they ate greedily, despite the waxy and sawdust aftertaste.

"Don't worry," Marv said. "You'll get better at it."

"Yes, yes, you keep saying that, all the while reminding me that I've got the magical skill of a twelve year old."

"Well, conjuring, at least, is supposed to be seventh year work," Marv said. "At least, the fancy stuff."

"And that's why I'm still struggling with plain bloody jam sandwiches."

"Oh, I'm sure to some peanut butter could be classified as fancy," Marv replied airily.

"God, I'm so incompetent," Harry lamented.

They came up to the roadway, and Marv relaxed and knelt down, setting Harry down on the edge of the grass so that he could rest. "Nonsense. Clearly you have a great deal of power. Your spellwork in the area of defense is a testament to it. I did stay long enough to see the spellfire you were discharging at that great beast that Tom loosed upon the bystanders in the Old Place. And I believe you mentioned a fully corporeal patronus at some point as well. One which repelled a hundred dementors. Again, impressive." Marv fell silent, staring across the road and into the forest, which started up again on the other side.

"What then," Harry asked resignedly. "Why am I so average everywhere else? You weren't average. You were brilliant at everything." Harry knew he was starting to sound whiny, but he didn't care. He was the magic one and yet he found he could do little to help them, short of conjuring food that would probably give them the runs.

"You lack certain keystones. Honestly, I'm amazed sometimes that Hogwarts is supposed to be the best school for magic in Britain, and a contender for the top spot in all of Europe." Marv shook his head, thinking about all the things he saw as flaws in the education system. "I have no doubt that if you pin down but a few concepts, the finesse that you currently lack in transfiguration and charms would come to you all too easily."

"You're just saying that," Harry said, now moping.

Marv just smiled a sad sort of smile. "Come on, why don't you see if you can summon the night bus, and then we can get out of here."

Harry did so, and they soon found themselves on their way to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical maladies. Harry wasn't surprised to see that Stan Shunpike was not on the bus, mostly because he now connected the once naive, acne-infested teen to Azkaban and all that was wrong with the Ministry of Magic. Even under Scrimgeour's rule, they weren't doing what they needed to do to stop Voldemort. Harry cleared his thoughts of the past and instead focused on the rolling countryside, watching as the hills and forests soon gave way to open plains and farmers fields, which in turn gave way to the crowded city of London, with its narrow cobblestone pathways, the bustle of compact cars and taxis and double-deckers, the rise of exhaust fogging up the otherwise clear evening air. Both Kittie and Minnie remained unconscious the entire time, which may or may not have been a bad thing, and Marv seemed content to just stare at her, clearly having sunk into his own memories. Whether they were good ones or bad ones, Harry knew not.

"Oy! St. Mungo's!" the driver called out, and Harry was amused to see that it was still Ernie. Well, it's good to know some things never change.

Harry's last thought apparently held for St. Mungo's as well, which, to him, looked exactly as he had remembered it. For a moment, as the quartet stood about in the waiting area, Harry could almost manage to convince himself that he really was in his own time and space; that the moving pictures of Gaelin and Hippocrates, who were prancing about like twelfth century homosexual swordsmen in the French court, in frilly white frocks no less, were really the paintings from his own time, that the bored looking guard and the receptionist who looked like a female version of Stan Shunpike, only with more acne, really went to Hogwarts under his Dumbledore. Alas, he couldn't fool himself. Strangely enough, he didn't even need Marv or Kittie or Minnie confirming it for him, nor did he need to see the headlines of the Daily Prophet, or read a history book or visit his old haunts. No, he didn't have to do any of that, because he knew, deep down that it was true; that whatever threshold he and his companions had crossed had cut him from the ties that held him to that other world. All at once, despite the aching in his legs, the cramps in his back from having been carried, he felt a sense of peace, as if the ever-looming fate pressed upon him were no longer there. Quite possibly, it wasn't, as the ordinary rules no longer applied. Not even prophecies can cross the bounds of reality he thought grimly as his senses acclimatized to the constant hubbub of activity, of sniffling patients and distraught mothers and fathers, of the antiseptic calm of the orderlies who pushed past the injured and traumatized as they continued en route to their next charge.

Harry listened only partly as Marv returned to the desk and asked again about the waiting time and the pressing need for medical attention in light of the toxic venom. "Please," he said, and Harry knew that Marv was jacking up the charm factor to its maximum. "My friend could die. We really just need a few moments of a doctor's time before-"

"I'm sorry," the receptionist said, donning her most sincere smile, which reminded Harry distinctly of Umbridge. Let's just hope she's a loser that goes nowhere in life, Harry thought, his gaze momentarily resting on Minnie's still form. She, at least, should have woken up, and he was starting to get nervous that she too was in a pretty bad condition. The receptionist was giving Marv what sounded like a programmed speech about policy or existing emergencies and so on and so forth, clearly enjoying the power she had to shut Marv-the-pretty-boy-who-got-everything-in-life up. Barring the vampires, Minnie was the first person he had spoken to in that strange fringe world, which he had started referring to as the Old Place. She had caught him so off guard in that alleyway, his mind having been bent on the single task of saving the blonde woman, completely unable to process her advances mentally, despite the clear reaction his body had given. He had felt pulled in two directions at once, and it had felt both excruciating and exquisite simultaneously. And then there had been Jack, who, in all likelihood, he had murdered partly out of self-defense and partly out of a battle-crazed thirst for revenge. Harry didn't really have regrets about Jack's fate; he was a brute who died by the code of the warrior. However, Harry still remembered the very real look of pain that graced Minnie's otherwise immaculate features. She was an airhead; Harry had no doubt about that, but she still had the power to feel, and jack was someone she clearly cared for. He was a good fuck, at any rate, if her rampant screaming had been any indication.

Harry remembered Kittie mentioning something about psychic pheromones, and that it added to her allure, and, more importantly, that he himself had command of such a thing. Marv came back utterly dejected, clearly having thought his own skills with the ladies was some sort of a trump card. Marv's failure made Harry feel better on some level; appealing to his baser masculine need for some ego-stroking. It wrangled a bit that Marv the Muggle knew more about magic than Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived.

"How long d'you suppose it'll be?" Harry asked.

Marv flopped down in the chair next to him. "Not a clue," he responded. "Not one bloody clue."

"If only we could have gotten them to Hogwarts," Harry said. "Madam Pomfrey would have fixed them right up."

"Any chance you know any healing spells?" Marv asked.

"I can fix broken noses. Does that help?"

"Bloody useless."

Harry bit down on a scathing remark. It would do no good to start fighting with Marv, especially when Harry knew that Marv cared a great deal for Kittie; perhaps he even loved her, in his own sort of way. After all, how could a thing which amounted to the bi-product of necromancy really understand love? It was supposed to be this incredible force that defied all study, and yet here they were, Marv clearly demonstrating a capacity for it, or something akin to it at least. Maybe it's like those androids in that novel, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? Harry mused. Maybe they can only mimic human emotions. Maybe he's got some sort of programming in him that allows him to copy human behaviours, patterns, inflections in speech that emulate emotions. Harry decided that it would probably be best to ponder on it another day. He really didn't have the cognitive abilities to generate a decent thought on such an abstract subject anyway.

To both Harry's and Marv's dismay, the waiting area seemed to be getting busier as night fell on London, and, worse yet, the people streaming in were sporting severe wounds, including still pouring blood from large wounds in abdomens, legs, from missing fingers, or limbs or some were being levitated while unconscious, clearly both legs having been smashed.

"There's a fight going on," Marv observed. "A lot of that is spell damage. Some of it dark. That one over there-" Marv pointed to a toddler with glazed eyes and drool sliding down his chin. "That one has taken the Cruciatus, I reckon."

"How do you know?" Harry asked, now fixing his gaze to the pale little blond boy. Hearing of the Cruciatus in connection to the child, Harry couldn't help but think of Neville.

"You get to know the signs." Marv did not seem inclined to elaborate, so Harry didn't push.

"Who would do that?" Harry ventured, having a feeling he knew exactly the kind of people who would do that.

Marv only looked at Harry with a raised eyebrow, as if to say, Do you really expect me to dignify that with a response?

No, Harry supposed he didn't. Bloody Death Eaters, he thought miserably. Not only do they have to terrorize my world, but this one as well. After considering it, he shrugged, deciding that it really wasn't his problem anyway. This world probably had its own saviour all decked out and ready to fight the good fight. Besides, it could have been a lot worse, once he started thinking about it. Harry wasn't gifted with a terribly active imagination, and whatever skills at creativity he might have possessed had been sorely stifled, starved and strangled to death amongst those dark days in his cupboard. In his private space, which was both Heaven and Hell. Still, even he could imagine them having landed in a world where everything could have been horribly wrong. Armageddon, nuclear wars, genocide of muggles or muggle-borns, to name a few. Hell, for all they knew, they could have ended up in a world where apes ran around with machine guns sipping on a fine Chianti one minute and beating down the enslaved humans the next. Anything was possible when you mixed magic and multiple dimensions; when you played God like Tom had.

"This is ridiculous," Marv said, slamming his fists down on his lap, mounting despair and frustration evident in his voice. "I swear to God, if Kittie dies because these clowns can't get their act together..." Marv left the threat hanging, clearly unable to articulate an adequate punishment to express his feelings, or, more aptly, Harry thought, because he wouldn't be able to do anything about it anyway, being a muggle and all. Marv's momentary feeling of inadequacy didn't elate Harry the way he might have wanted it to, however. Instead, it made him feel that much more depressed, because it fell on him to protect them using magic, whether that meant fighting off the acromantulas, or coaxing the staff at St. Mungo's to get medical treatment. No doubt the perceived squib status of his three companions by the hospital staff was exacerbating their problem. With these thoughts, running through his head, Harry didn't realize that Marv was actually speaking to him, whispering in hushed tones and taking care to keep his words quiet.

"Huh?" Harry asked, swiveling his head to look directly at Marv.

"I said, use the Imperius," Marv whispered fiercely, his eyes alight with that alien red intelligence.

It took a moment for Harry to understand just what Marv was asking, and, when it finally registered, surprisingly enough, he didn't experience the knee-jerk feeling of horror that he once would have at the prospect of any light wizard using the curse. That's because you're not a light wizard, a voice inside him said silkily.

If I'm not light, though, Harry thought, does that mean I'm dark?

No, you're something else entirely.

Harry, resolved to employ the curse, simply turned to Marv and whispered back, "Show me how."

It took Harry a dozen tries to get the spell right, which, he supposed, wasn't a surprise, given that the Imperius Curse was rather unique in its effects. On his seventh attempt, he had managed to catch the mind of the victim, but he rejected it almost instantly, like a novice fisherman relinquishing control of a fishing rod when he gets his first real snag. It didn't help that he was trying to do it while looking at a stray piece of wall, all the while keeping his gaze fixed on the receptionist through the periphery of his vision. Got it, he thought satisfied, reigning in the feelings of dizziness and vertigo that were threatening to pitch him back out across that black space between his mind and her mind. Distantly, he could hear Marv urging Harry to give her instructions before people began noticing her blank look. Apparently, as Harry was discovering, the quality of the curse, its strength and the believability of the victim to act normal were both predicated on the skill and strength of the caster. After what seemed like an age, Harry managed to drive the flutter of foreign sensations down into one corner of his mind, which he marked off with a 'Do Not Disturb' sign, its only existence being a slight yet constant ethereal sort of itching feeling.

Harry issued mental instructions the way Marv was ordering him too, and, before they knew it, a doctor was approaching, a magic clipboard floating dutifully next to him.

"Ah, you are Marv Oloson?" the doctor asked, coming up to Marv, who nodded. "What seems to be the trouble here?"

Marv pointed to Kittie first, saying, "Acromantula poisoning. She was bitten in her lower back several hours ago." He then pointed to Harry and indicated the two broken legs, and finally, Minnie, who was simply unconscious, diagnosis unknown.

Before long, the four patients were ushered into separate chambers, two per chamber. Marv's superficial wounds were healed almost instantaneously, whereupon he promptly joined Kittie while she was placed in near isolation. Harry's legs were a bit more tricky to fix, as his own internal repair system was hard at work mending the bones as best they could. The healer had to break them before setting them and giving him a blood replenishing potion. Minnie was given a concoction of unknown type that seemed to perk her up rather readily. Colour returned to her cheeks, her state of unconsciousness transformed into one of restful slumber.

They were all given beds for overnight observation, and Marv was accommodated, because he was believed to be Kittie's next of kin. Everything seemed rather fine, all things considered. Harry awoke early the next morning, the sky still a dark blue from what he could tell through the window. Minnie was awake and sitting upright, staring at the far wall, but not really seeing it.

"Hey," he said, brushing the grogginess from his eyes and hoisting himself into a sitting position. At first, she didn't answer, and Harry wondered if maybe the concussion had done something to her brain.

"Hey," she replied.

Harry couldn't make out anything from her tone, though he supposed it had to be bad since she was normally so jovial. Harry tried again in the ensuing silence. "How are you doing?"

Again, she took a rather long time to respond, as if weighing the question or the words carefully, as though her life depended on it. "I'm okay, I think."

"Should I go try and find you a doctor?" Harry asked, wondering if perhaps she needed medical attention. Certainly her response time seemed to be down.

'No, no," she responded. "I'm fine like that, you know? It's just..." She trailed off, her eyes taking on that unfocused quality as though she were thinking really hard about something which, unbeknownst to her, what was an intractable problem. Before Harry could prompt her, she asked suddenly and with an unusual intensity that it made Harry want to flinch back. She turned to him and asked, "Where am I, Harry?"

It was a decidedly odd question. It was also in its oddity that it was so astounding. Asking such a question was like permitting yourself to stand upon the precipice of something great, like a faraway magical land, or before a cataclysm or incomprehensibly vast gorge. What kind of answer could Harry give her? What would make sense? What would help her ease into the fact that she had crossed some ludicrous boundary between realities? Harry himself hardly understood it, Marv little better. What was there to say, when the knowledge would sweep away all you thought about the world, all your beliefs, all the things that made you think you understood stuff, the reason you took comfort that the sun would rise the next day or that the ground beneath your feet was solid. It was like displacing the Earth from the center of the universe. It was like telling an eleven year old child that he was a wizard, that his parents were not drunks and vagabonds who died in a car crash. It was like finding out you were in a prophecy and that you were slated to take on a really big tough guy, and that you were at the center of the world, that the world, apparently, revolved around you instead of the other way around. Harry smiled all of a sudden, the full import of an earlier concept coming to fruition in his mind: the prophecy meant nothing here. He meant nothing; he was no chosen one, no saviour, no nothing. Just a loose piece of driftwood like the rest of the worthless rabble that ambled aimlessly through the streets of London, through Britain, France, Nepal, Indonesia, Canada, Australia, Papa New Guinea. Hell, the Arctic, even. He was, for the first time, just Harry. Fuck Yeah. And so, with those thoughts running through his still sleep-addled brain, the first light of dawn creeping in through the windows, the distant tinkle of magical wards going up and coming down, doctors and nurses on the graveyard shift calling it a night and going home, others taking their place, putting on newly pressed labrobes, casting anti-grogginess spells on each other, Harry couldn't help but let a goofy smile spread across his face as he responded to Minnie's formidable question, his most formidable response crystallizing into four words. "Minnie, you're in wonderland."

A/N: hi, it's me again. I just wanted to say thank you to those who reviewed last time (shivakashi and Smurf).


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Who ARE You

Six days later, Harry found himself wandering aimlessly through Nocturne Alley, dazed and confused. Things had gone from mediocre to seriously fucked up about five minutes after the quartet walked past the gates of Hogwarts, their minds turned determinedly to gaining access to the entire library, and, in doing so, figuring out how to return home.

None of them noticed, unsurprisingly, the silent alarms that started going haywire when they crossed the threshold, so that, by the time Harry and friends made it halfway to the entrance hall of Hogwarts, spells were being discharged at high speed right at their position.

"Wha-fuck?" Harry asked, six blasting hexes converging on a point five feet to his left, causing an explosion of dirt and grass and stones that sent Harry flying through the air and landing in a heap on the ground, his vision blurred by smoke and the acrid taste of magic. Immediately, his wand was in hand, his green eyes keening for his three defenseless companions. Death Eaters, he thought grimly, sending out his magical feelers, just as Marv had been teaching him to do so that he could try and locate them. Curses were continually coming in a stream, like machine gun fire; clearly his opponents adopting a shoot first ask questions later policy. Harry could feel hard-line Reductor Curses blowing apart the hedges around him, occasionally coming onto their mark, only to be deflected by his shield and sent back into the fray. At first, Harry dared not send out his own curses for fear he would hit Marv or Kittie or Minnie, any of whom could be staggering through the smoke, which was casually being stoked by the spells that his opponents were casting. Thankfully, there were no unforgiveables in the mix, which surprised Harry a little bit, though he decided not to question his good fortune too closely. Certainly if they saw him deflecting with ease their spells, they may very well switch to them. Harry backed away and crouched low to provide less of a target, keeping his shield close and his eyes peering about to see if anyone were trying to pincer him from behind. There's too many, he thought, his mind working furiously. You need to fight back. Incapacitating spells only, he thought, and immediately whispered, "Stupefy," letting a red beam of light arc through the haze and into the direction where a spell had come. At least if he hit one of his own, they would simply fall unconscious, as opposed to being blown apart by a blasting hex.

And where the hell're the teachers? he thought, dodging another spell and sending out his own curse. Belatedly, he realized that some of the others had twigged onto his idea and were triangulating his position based on his spellfire. And you know they're only going to revive each other as you take them down. You need something stronger, he thought. Already, the smoke was dissipating, the spellfire growing less intense as they began to corner him. Harry wished he could create more, even an illusion or something, but he didn't know how, and mentally resolved, if he survived this latest attack, to ask Marv to give him a quick tutorial on illusion charms. A spell grazed him to one side and again, Harry sent out another stunner, whereupon he heard the distinctly satisfying thud of a body dropping, only to have his smugness wiped away by the distinct feel of someone right behind him. He whirled around, taking a bludgeoning hex right to the stomach, breaking his ribs, which, he briefly thought was better than breaking his back. On instinct, even as he fell, Harry silently discharged a blasting hex, catching the figure off guard and striking him clean in the chest, causing the skin to explode and bones and bits of heart and torrents of blood bursting out onto the green grass and Harry's clothes. As Harry hit the ground, he heard someone being enervated behind him, and, bent on stopping the bastards, Harry discharged yet another reductor curse, which hit its mark clean in the head.

For the first time in that battle, Harry heard the chilling words of the killing curse iterated, forcing Harry to take rapid cover. His only saving grace was that he ended up tripping over Minnie's prone body as he stumbled out of the way to one side, sending the darkest hex he knew in retaliation, "Sectumsempra." He heard a gurgled cry from the victim, who clearly didn't expect Harry to get off a shot so quickly, which, Harry realized, was becoming a common theme in the battle. These people seriously need to learn to maintain a shield charm, he thought, picking himself up and looking around. The smoke had thinned out enough that he could start seeing his attackers. To his surprise, they weren't wearing black cloaks and masks, though he still couldn't make out any of their faces. There were six left, two of them having been killed and two still unconscious from Harry's stunners. The six were now closing in on Harry, who was simply watching as they began forming a circle.

Oh no you don't, he thought, knowing that he was clearly outgunned in this fight. Electing to put some of his new skills to good use, he silently cast the imperius on one of the farther back attackers, momentarily surprised by the fight that the person put up before finally breaking, as Harry clamped down hard on the other consciousness, exerting his will with as much force as he could muster, simultaneously quashing his own unease with the knowledge that these were evildoers. Move to the back and exterminate them, he willed. Immediately, his victim complied, leaving Harry to return his full attention to the remaining five. The smoke was all gone now, and, as a result, all five fired curses at Harry, who dodged hard to the left and raised a shield simultaneously, twisting it in one direction and the next to send the curses flying back at the unsuspecting opponents at odd angles, one reductor smashing apart his nearest foe's legs while a full-body bind was returned to the caster. Harry's inside man, to Harry's distinct horror, was using the killing curse to dispatch his opponents. Again, Harry quashed the unease and added his own spellfire as the now two remaining soldiers whirled around in shock to see what was happening. Another one was picked off with the killing curse before the last survivor had the presence of mind to stun his turncoat comrade. Before he could turn around, however, Harry summoned his wand and caught it in midair.

The soldier turned about and, like a veteran condemned to the executioner's block, adopted a grim, resolved expression and faced Harry squarely. To his surprise, it wasn't a male at all. It wasn't Lucius Malfoy, or Dolohov or some otherwise faceless Death Eater. It was Nymphadora Tonks, her hair toned down to a simple brown, her eyes a matching colour.

"Tonks?" Harry asked in disbelief. For the first time, he took a moment to scrutinize the robes of the people he was fighting and realized that they weren't the classic Death Eater black because they were standard uniform grey. Grey for aurors.

"What're you waiting for?" Tonks asked, her voice dripping with contempt.

"Er," Harry began awkwardly, his brain racing to catch up with the events that were rapidly unfolding around him. He could see that Kittie and Marv were nowhere in sight, clearly having taken off to God knows where. He only hoped they were free and safe, and silently thanked the stars that Marv was familiar with the wizarding world and that Kittie had superior legilimantic powers. However, that didn't really help Harry very much, since he was now in need of medical attention and he had to get Minnie out of there. And time was running out, as he watched professors come pouring out of the castle entrance, wands in hand, prepared, obviously, to do battle against the forces of evil; those forces, Harry was starting to realize, being him.

Oh my God, he thought, a feeling of lightheadedness and nausea slowly stealing over him, like a gambler who just bet his life savings away. How the hell was he going to explain this? he thought. Oblivious to the fact that Tonks was looking at him half-curious, half-determined. You could tell them you thought they were Death Eaters, he thought, that'll do. Except for the fact that you used the fucking Imperius Curse. And you've got no Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free Prophecy to bail you out this time. Harry pursed his lips in annoyance.

Keeping one wand trained on Tonks, he used the other to levitate Minnie and send her floating towards the edge of the grounds, he then levitated Tonks and sent her cannonballing towards the teachers, hoping she would slow their progress, all the while Harry turned tail and bolted after Minnie, casting a magical shield behind him as he ran, biting down on the pain spreading out from his torso, praying a spell wouldn't reach him until he got past the anti-apparation wards and managed to disapparate - after figuring out how to do so with another person in tow. And then, after he had managed all of that, he could begin lamenting about how he had effectively murdered several aurors and casting an unforgiveable, which would promptly be reported to the authorities.

From there, his situation managed to go from bad to worse. Harry, being effectively broke, took to casting the dreaded unforgiveable rather often, as it were, as a matter of merely surviving. He was careful not to use it for extended periods of time, not knowing quite what the effects of prolonged exposure were, and not wanting to attract the attention of any individuals who would be able to identify the curse. Eventually, Harry took to simple thievery and cheap muggle disguises to hide himself while he was in wizarding places, as his image found its way plastered onto shop windows and lightposts. Worse yet, they seemed to know his name, which had the effect of confusing him to no end. All told, things rather sucked.

"So where are you going today?" Minnie asked, her slender form splayed across the bed, her body half-obscured by the covers, her honey blonde hair matted and looking even more beautiful than usual.

"Stop that," Harry said irritably, staring out the window, thoroughly dissatisfied with the whole mess. It had been five days and he still had no clue what he was doing. Apart from hunting and gathering, at any rate.

"Stop what?" she asked innocently.

"That pheromone thing."

"Phooey. Harry, you're no fun," she said, pouting.

Good God, he thought, here we are fugitives from the law, a hair's breadth from having tea for eternity with dementors, and she wants to run around having sex like a nymphomaniac. Worst of all, it was all he could do to fight the feeling off. How does she do that anyway? It occurred to him that he could probably use that particular skill if he were going to go into Diagon Alley. He would have to distract, confuse and cajole people into doing what he wanted with minimal effort and before they scrutinized him too carefully. And he would have to do it all wandlessly and in a way that didn't set off curse alarms, not that he knew of any curses short of the Imperius which could manipulate human behaviour in a seamless fashion. Confusion and suggestion charms tended to disorient the victim, not that it mattered, since he couldn't cast one for the life of him. If it didn't come down to brute force, he was rubbish at it.

"Well, what are we going to do then?" she asked. "I mean, we've been here for days and I'm tired of being cooped up. A girl needs to get out and live a little."

Harry sighed. She was right; it was cruel and unusual. "All right," he said. "I'll make something happen today. But first, I could do with a bit of assistance." With that, Harry got his first lesson in psychic pheromones.

And so, after that rather confusing and awkward lesson, in which he had ended up stripping off Minnie's shirt and drooling all over her neck before he managed to get a hold of himself, Harry set out to Diagon Alley to piece together a plan of action that would hopefully get them in touch with Marv and Kittie, and also create a more suitable living arrangement. What I need, he thought, is the bloody Fidelius. Harry's first stop was Gringotts. He had decided at some point that it was worth a shot to go in and try to access an account. He only hoped that there was a Harry James Potter in this world that had one also and that whatever means of identification that goblins used would be fooled by the fact that he was an identical replica of the real one, right down to his very blood. He doubted that even Gringotts took into account inter-dimensional travellers when designing their security systems.

The familiar imposing white walls and large open doors, with the goblins outside watching the witches and wizards passing by brought a pang of nostalgia to Harry. He remembered the first time he ever gazed upon the magnificent building, finding out he was rich, learning just a bit more about his parents, taking the cart ride down into the underground on what he could only have described as exhilarating. Shoving those thoughts away and cutting through the haphazard traffic, Harry crossed the bank's threshold, felt the wards kicking in, examining him, though for what he couldn't tell, listening to the click of his shoes on the polished marble floors. Harry maneuvered himself to a teller and politely inquired, "My name is Harry James Potter. I would like to withdraw some money."

The goblin, not paying attention in the least to his name, which was synonymous with Bellatrix Lestrange, thanks to the fiasco five days ago, responded, "Key, please."

Crap, I knew I was forgetting something, he thought, admonishing himself. "Er, I don't have one," Harry said in what sounded to himself like a rather feeble voice.

Now the goblin glanced his way and scrutinized him. "Harry James Potter?"

"Er, yes," Harry said, suddenly tensing in anticipation of a brawl. He had blithely assumed that since Sirius had managed to pull together three thousand dollars in his third year, and assuming that he had gotten it from Gringotts, Harry just figured that the goblins operated under laws different from those of the Ministry's.

"You don't have an account here," said the goblin. "As it's been reported that you've been dead for the last fifteen years, it should hardly stand to be a surprise to you."

"Oh," said Harry, his brain not quite able to conjure up a response. Finally, he asked the only intelligent thing he could, desperate to keep the conversation going in order to garner some more scraps of information, and just because he had gotten kind of lonely having no one to talk to except Minnie, who was not exactly the sharpest tack on the wall. "Er, how do you know that I'm supposed to be dead?" Harry asked lamely. Was he famous in this world too? Was he Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Died?

"Mr. Potter, are you feeling all right?"

Let's just pray to God you got the goblin with a soft heart. His Slytherin edge evincing itself for the first time since he arrived, Harry leaned forward conspiratorially and said, "To tell you the truth, I have a bit of amnesia. My current circumstances are a bit beyond me, if you understand what I mean. If you could fill me in on some of the highlights regarding what's been going on, that would be great. In particular if it has some bearing on how I could score some galleons."

The goblin seemed somewhat skeptical, but, given that there really weren't that many people about on a weekday afternoon, the goblin decided to oblige, and started speaking, "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named supposedly murdered you on Halloween night, nineteen eighty-one. For what reason, no one knows. However, not a minute thereafter, he turned his wand to Lily Evans Potter and cast the killing curse, intending to wipe the Potters out completely. However, the curse backfired, reducing him to a shadow of his former self. Only recently has he been resurrected and has been terrorizing the world ever since. Since 1991, after he penetrated Hogwarts and extracted the philosopher's stone. You are famous, because your mother is famous. After all, she repelled You-Know-Who by reflecting a curse that was thought to be unblockable."

"Holy crap," Harry muttered. "Holy crap."

"Indeed Mr. Potter. Holy crap indeed."

"Does that mean she's alive?" Harry asked, suddenly unsure as to what kind of answer he wanted anymore. Did he even want to know?

But then the goblin spoke and took away any of Harry's ability to process anymore information. "Yes. Both she and your father." The goblin went on to discuss the possibility that, with consent of the father or upon his death, Harry would be eligible to take hold of some or all of the assets, depending on his father's will. The goblin even went so far as to offer sending a request for Harry's name to be added in accordance with the usual parent-child privileges that many pureblooded families had regarding their vault assets at Gringotts, to which Harry politely declined, still dazed by the information that his parents, or, at least some version of them - one not altogether removed from the ones he should have had, were alive and together. Immediately, a rosy glow formed in his mind's eye of the family they would have made, the living room of Godric's Hollow warm and tinged with warm colours from the fire dancing merrily in the hearth, his mother and father putting up Christmas decorations on a freshly cut tree, Christmas music in the background, both of them laughing and being merry and stealing glances at one another, glances still full of that warmth and love from their youth, it never having been extinguished despite the passage of time. Harry wandered aimlessly down the streets of Diagon Alley, his mind still whirling with the possibility. Could he go see them? The answer to that, he knew, was simply a yes. All he would need was a broomstick and a map, and he could set off to Godric's Hollow, where he knew they must still be living. He would go there and he would just watch, maybe from a tree, maybe from behind some shrubs or from a distance, he would watch them go about their daily lives, able to revel in the marvelousness of seeing them for the first time in his life, in the flesh, exactly as they would have been, should have been, could have been.

If it weren't for Voldemort.

Yes, he was going to see his parents, come hell or high water and by God there wasn't a being on Earth that was going to get in his way. Compelled by the same unwavering drive that had sent him to the DOM, the same drive that sent him barreling headlong after Snape on that warm moist night back in June, Harry went straight to Quality Quidditch supplies, unconsciously unleashing the full force of his new talent, which he still did not know how to control, creating a throng of women glazing over, some of whom began trailing after him in his wake. Oblivious to his haywire emotions, that part of him that was still a little lonely child locked in a cupboard yearning desperately for love and belonging spurring him on to get a glimpse, the way a crack addict convinces himself about stealing money to get that one last little rock. So, Harry, practically having left his disguise on the cobblestone walkways of Diagon Alley, strode into the Quidditch store and simply took one of the brooms, his newfound control after his torture session at Tom's hands reasserting itself and shattering what amounted to rather feeble anti-theft wards when compared to the force of Harry's will.

"Hold on a second!" a man was calling from some distant place - probably the manager, Harry mused; some silly person naively wandering into his path. Harry, ignoring him, simply walked out of the store, looked around at the few women that had gathered around the entrance in search of him, and simply shrugged, mounting his new broom - the Orbital. Harry took off, just as aurors were apparating in to arrest the thief that had swiftly and wandlessly cracked commercial wards without breaking a sweat.

Minnie knew she would never be the smartest girl in her class, or the most athletic or the most musical or artistic or kind, compassionate, thoughtful, logical or the tallest or one of those people who had a knack for solving complex puzzles really quickly. Apart from being gorgeous and having the ability to seduce men and leave them as befuddled as though they had been hit with a strong befuddlement charm, she really couldn't claim anything, apart from an average level of street smarts. Still, she tried, dammit, and she tried hard, even if it meant carving out a niche somewhere in the nether reaches of a fringe world, where nobody cared about her one bit. Nobody except a big oaf named Jack, who doted on her like she were a queen; a person that she could trust in to be her rock, to care for her, and in return ask only to be cared for. Life had seemed pretty ordinary and that was fine by her, for, as was the case with all inhabitants of the fringe worlds, her story was a sad one, and she was merely thankful that she had found peace.

And then there was Harry. That blasted scrawny little pipsqueak with his busted up glasses and oh so cute hair and dazzling eyes, his lean frame, tough as nails attitude, made only cuter by his moments of extreme naiveté. Minnie sighed just thinking about him. Stu had warned her that he had the same effect she had had on others; Stu had said to be careful around him, to keep a few steps away at all times, for she didn't want to be giving her man any ideas. Still it was hard, because Harry represented something deeply fundamental that she couldn't describe; an inarticulable sense that they were connected somehow. He was like her; shared the same talent as her, was immune to her charms. And that excited and terrified her in ways that she couldn't begin to understand. He was somebody who, unlike all the men who came before him, could appreciate her for who she was. Not realizing it, Minnie was falling for Harry for the same reason that Kittie had fallen for him way back when they had been sitting together on that lumpy foam cot in one of the less used backrooms at the Red Cherry.

Sometime around mid-morning, Minnie felt an unusual spike in the air, like an energy, faint yet pulsating was flowing through the room, sourced from a particular direction. She knew the feel immediately. It was Harry; his burgeoning new talent being released in torrents as he was clearly confronted with an emotionally devastating blow. She could feel it moving ever so slightly as he walked westward, and, before long, she felt it coming closer, as though he were riding on a very fast motorbike, and, before she knew it, she could feel him overhead, making her think that maybe he was on a plane, except that when she checked out the window, there wasn't a plane in sight.

He was going somewhere, probably using magic, and his emotions were out of control. Making a snap decision, Minnie got her things together and went after him, knowing instinctively that trouble tended to find Harry wherever he went and that she would be there for him if he needed her.

It was late evening when Harry silently touched down at the mouth of a quiet, countryside lane. The sun was occluded by the scattered farm houses that littered the valley around Godric's Hollow, blanketing the area in an ever-growing shadow, the sky turning to deeper and darker shades of blue with each passing minute. It had taken him the better part of the day just to figure out where he was supposed to be going a fact that greatly annoyed him to no end, since he felt he should have at least known where the murder of his parents had taken place. Somebody should have brought me here long ago, he mused, or I should have made it my job to come here. Back in that other world - his world - this place was one of the few repositories of information that could tell him anything about his parents.

Suddenly though, standing alone on that quiet gravel street, the light twinkling out of existence, the moon rising, a broom in one hand, Harry wind-swept, cheeks flushed, he found that his resolution of seeing his parents from earlier that day started to waver. There was no question that he wanted to see them; that was not the concern that was holding him back. It was more of an internal alarm bell that was ringing in his head, though this time it had nothing to do with Death Eaters or vampires or crazed half-giants. No, this time he was afraid of himself. Maybe you want to see them too much, eh? a part of him spoke up. Can you really just go take a look and then walk away? Can you bring yourself to the brink of the abyss and not throw yourself in, to lose yourself in that fantasy that this world can offer you? Turn away, find your friends and go home.

But Harry didn't do that. Instead, he slung his broom over his shoulder and gently walked down the street, content to take his time and savour the feel of the light breeze, the scent of a country summer evening, the faint smell of horses and of grass, the absence of the pollutants from the city, the constellations of stars above shining down and looking bright and full and glistening with their due intensity. It was like a fine wine, like a warm-up before what he knew would be a truly wonderful experience, even if the sight of them cut through him like a spray of glass shards, opening all the emotional wounds and sorrows that had scabbed over through the years. All he knew was that he wanted it, the bitter pleasure, the sweet pain, like black tea with an overdose of lemon and honey.

The Potter residence seemed to be set apart from the other homes, though Harry wasn't sure if it was just a trick of the light or the intense magical wards that guarded it. His magical senses, which were alive and attuned to the world around him, easily picked up the edge of the wards, feeling them thicken and turn acrid and suffocating as he neared the dwelling. They were trying to push him away, as if they didn't recognize him, as if they didn't recognize his blood. That thought made him feel heavy and he stopped for a moment to gaze up at the house, absently thinking he should disillusion himself or creep around to the side of the house or find a bush to hide under. Again though, any desire for stealth or secrecy was simply washed away by the flood of emotions, by the magnitude of what stood before him.

Harry, still not willing to light his wand despite the looming dark, walked across the front lawn, scanning around himself to see if nosy neighbours were about, a skill ingrained in him from years at the Dursleys. Thankful that there was no one, Harry quietly nestled himself into the recesses of a tree, and peered into the front window, glad to have found a good vantage point from which to spy on his parents. The living room looked surprisingly plain, with white walls and occasional photographs, both wizard and muggle, hanging idly at evenly spaced intervals. He saw a landscape picture with oxen grazing in a valley, and he saw one of an imitation Monet impressionist painting. Rather banal, isn't it? he thought, unconsciously shifting his mental picture of his parents to incorporate these new details.

It was some time before anyone actually showed up. His mother came home first, dressed in white robes typical of a healer. It appeared as though she had apparated directly from work, given that the first thing she did was run upstairs and into what Harry assumed to be her bedroom, from which she emerged just a few minutes later, having changed into casual muggle attire. She had fixed her hair into a tight bun, which was darker than it looked in the various wizarding photos he had of her. It was like dark gold lit aflame, a few stray curls falling down around her softly lined face, still smoothed, still unscarred from the horrors of the world, of Voldemort. He had half-expected to see her sporting a lightning-shaped scar on her forehead, just like his, but there wasn't anything of the sort. Maybe he aimed the curse lower, Harry thought, or maybe it was because she was older when it happened, or that she received immediate magical medical attention. Maybe she was a healer at the time, or training to be one and had a salve on hand to treat it. Harry decided it wasn't really worth interrogating and instead returned to mom-gazing, as it were. People had always told him - the Dursleys excluded, of course - that she was radiantly beautiful, and the pictures he had of her seemed to confirm this. However, looking at her now, she seemed shorter than he expected. Maybe five foot four, or five foot five. Possibly he had always expected in his mind's eye that, should he ever see them, they would tower over him like parents were supposed to do to little children; that thought was like another cut on his soul, reminding him that he was all grown up, that any childhood he could have had with them was gone and that, in all honesty, it was for the best if he were to fulfill his destiny. Pretty lives weren't for murderers.

Funny, how I was so terrified of the thought of becoming a murderer or victim at the end of my fifth year, and here I've slaughtered innocent people, and it hardly bothers me.

Lily had disappeared before long, moving into what Harry decided was probably the kitchen, intending to make food. The thought of it made Harry acutely aware that it had been several hours since he himself had eaten. However, he dared not conjure food, as substandard as it was, for the distinct pressure of the wards was still around him, searching, scanning, pressing down upon his body, and he couldn't tell if any of them were attuned to magic usage. Certainly it wasn't that hard to erect a magical detection ward; the Ministry had them all over the place for underage witches and wizards, and it would be a surefire way to protect yourself in a muggle environment. Marv had mentioned that he needed to learn the three different types of perimeter charms as well as bolstering his occlumancy if he wanted to be a truly proficient soldier. Harry, of course, had never learned such finesses, and hadn't been very interested in them, until Marv pointed out that anyone could sneak up on him without them, and that in a duel, any legilimans would simply pick his next actions right out of his head before he executed them.

Before long, Sirius Black popped into the living room, dressed in a rather regal looking black robe with red and gold embroidery etched into the edges. Harry couldn't help but smile at the blatant use of Gryffindor colours. The sight of his dead Godfather caused a lump to form in his throat. It was different seeing Lily, because she had always been an abstraction borne out of his own longing, a dream, a nostalgia. The sight of Sirius reminded him acutely of so many distinct memories where he was happy, where he could forget about the wizarding world and its problems, and he could forget about the Dursleys, where he could trust others to take care of them, where he could trust that one person who would guard him unconditionally, never leave him, love him, make him a priority. Another cut.

It was a distinct surprise when Sirius came bounding back into the living room, a goofy grin on his face, Lily in hot pursuit, waving a... frying pan? Sirius doubled back, deftly evading a half-hearted strike with the makeshift weapon and catching Lily around her waist, encircling her in his arms, and then lifting her in the air so that she shrieked in surprise, her voice, which sounded like phoenix song to Harry, sprinkling distantly through the glass wall that was between him and them. After Sirius finished spinning her about, he let her down and then held her close in what was clearly a lover's embrace, his face expressing all the emotions of love and tenderness. Then, before Harry's very eyes, he saw them kiss. It was deep, it was long, it was extremely eye opening for Harry. What the hell? he wondered.

Before he could fully process the fact that his mother-clone was snogging his Godfather-clone right before his very eyes, Harry felt the distinct thrust of a wand jabbing into his back. Immediately, he stiffened, the reality of his situation crashing down on him, the murders, his non-existence, the fact that he was trespassing on some heavily guarded property.

"Not a move," said the voice. He could tell the person was female, despite the hushed tones she was using, though he couldn't pin her age, nor could he catch sight of her reflection in the glass. There was too much backlighting, and she was clearly on the other side of the tree, her wand being pushed through the branches and around the trunk in order to reach him. Well, she hasn't hexed you yet, he thought. Maybe you can talk your way out of this. Or then again, maybe she's waiting for back up. You did single-handedly take down like ten aurors at Hogwarts, and lived to tell the tale; not that it was that impressive, when he thought about it. The idiots had hurled curses left, right and center and managed to miss all their targets - hopefully all their targets - as though they were terrified firsties. It was like they walked into that battle expecting to die, he mused, like they were facing Lord Voldemort himself. But, of course, that was ridiculous, since Lord Voldemort wasn't there, he mused. I mean, it was just me and three- Suddenly Harry realized it, and it suddenly made his blood run cold. Oh no, he thought, oh no, no, no. Not only had he killed a bunch of aurors, but he was in the presence of Lord Voldemort, or, at least, a version of him, and now everyone would think that he was in league with the Dark Lord and... dammit! Damn that blasted horcrux all to hell, Harry whined.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" said the female voice behind him, which Harry now could tell was clearly the voice of somebody young. Like, Hogwarts pre-OWLs young, Harry thought.

"Er, sorry?" Harry asked, about to turn around before getting the wand jabbed more firmly in his backside.

"I said, not a move," she continued.

"Again, Harry tried to effect a conciliatory tone. "Sorry, I wasn't paying attention. What were you saying?"

The girl gave out an audible humph before repeating herself. "I said, who are you and what are you doing skulking around my home?"

"Your home?" Harry asked curiously, his own surprise getting the better of him.

"Yeah, my home. Now start talking. Who are you?"

You've got about three seconds before it starts to look like you're stalling, so make it quick, his mind told him. "Er, Marv. My name's Marv."

"And?" she pressed.

"And what?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Er, bird-watching?" he offered lamely, already mentally berating himself for his slow wit. Take down a basilisk, no problem, slaughter demons, kill innocent people, cross dimensions (by accident, no less), all in a day's work. Conjure an intelligent thought, where? Who? How?

"Bird watching?" she asked.

"Er, yeah. It's that time of year," he continued, still wincing at his own words, thankful she couldn't see his expression. Smooth, he thought, real smooth.

"From the bushes," she added, her tone turning skeptical, once she managed to process his words.

"Can I plead insanity?" he asked.

"No one's even supposed to be able to get within a hundred metres of this place without a million and one alarms going off. So I'm asking you for the last time, who are you and what are you doing here? If you don't answer, I'm going to shoot first and ask questions later."

Harry didn't bother pondering the frank stupidity of her last statement, and instead chose to focus on figuring out a way out from under her wand. He doubted she would pose much threat, given that he could probably wandlessly disarm her or at least block whatever incoming jinxes she could throw at him, being that she couldn't have had more than five years magical education. Still, he wasn't keen on letting this escalate to the fighting stage, since that would surely draw the attention of Sirius and Lily, and he wasn't exactly prepared for that. Also, he knew better than to underestimate school kids, because there was always one or two out of the bunch who proved to be exceptional, like Hermione, or who had unusually vicious experiences that prepared them early on for dangerous situations, like himself.

"Listen, I swear I mean you guys no harm," Harry said. "My story's a bit of a long one, and, frankly, I'm not terribly inclined to discuss it at wandpoint. Would you mind maybe putting it away so we could talk face to face? That might help you understand who I am."

"Oh no you don't," she responded instantly. "Don't think for a second that you're going to get away that easily. I know exactly how you thugs are. No, you're going to stay right there and tell me everything, or else you're going to find yourself being carted away in a body bag."

Body bag? Harry thought. Christ, who is this kid? "A death threat's rather excessive, don't you think?" he asked finally.

"Listen to me. You've got a wand pointed right between your shoulder blades, your back turned to an unknown enemy. You've just got to ask yourself one question. Do I feel lucky?"

"Er-" Okay, what the hell do I make of that? he wondered.

"Well, do you?" she pressed, digging the wand tip a little deeper into his skin.

"Er, do I what?" he asked, growing more and more bewildered. Was this some sort of pureblood wizard protocol? Why do I have to be so ignorant of everything, he lamented silently.

"God, you must be really brave or really stupid."

"I'm a Gryffindor," he said, shrugging. "Brave and stupid are my middle names."

"Gryffindor? Really?" she asked, surprised. "I'm a Huffelpuff, myself. what year?"

"Um, maybe we should get this conversation back on track," he said, sidestepping the issue. "You were trying to pump me for information, remember?"

"You don't really act like a dangerous criminal," she said, more to herself than to him.

"Obviously," he added. "That would be because I'm not." Minus the several dead bodies.

"Still, you know I can't just lower my wand. That would be downright stupid.'

"You're right," Harry agreed, silently deciding to take her down and regain control of the situation. "That is why I'll make it real easy on you." With a casual wave of his hand, which was all for theatrics anyway, Harry hit his unknown assailant with the full body bind, her wand falling uselessly to the grass, her body snapping into place like a set of Lego pieces, her expression still one of intense concentration that was slowly morphing into surprised horror. Harry turned around just as she was falling to the floor. He knelt down and picked up her wand, examining it curiously as though it were a potential new discovery, all the while carefully feeling the wards to see if there were any signs of change, any indication that the occupants of the house had been alerted to the use of magic. "Now," he said in a calm, relaxed tone, "I'm going to unbind you, and I would appreciate it if you didn't scream. I promise you I'm not going to hurt you-" he briefly considered adding a condition that she not hurt him first, but decided she was probably too panicked to understand higher order logic and so continued on without the qualifier. "I hope that, by unbinding you and giving you your wand, you will trust me a bit more. Is that okay?" he asked, undoing the bind on her neck and upper back. Harry maneuvered around the tree and came next to her, sitting himself down on the grass in a cross-legged position, hoping that it would come across as a non-offensive posture. "Well?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Good," he said, taking a deep breath and undoing the bind. He then gently laid her wand in front of him and sat there watching her. The stranger flexed her limbs experimentally, clearly not having experienced that particular curse before, and then, deciding she was unharmed, picked herself off the grass and knelt down to sit across from Harry. In the dim light, he could see that she was indeed younger than he was. Her hair was black and her eyes a startling blue. Sirius's blue.

"You're Sirius's daughter," Harry said in a neutral tone.

She nodded. And then, in the ensuing silence, answered Harry's unasked question. "And Lily's daughter."

"Right," Harry said. "Of course."

"Of course?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He smiled. "I have to admit. I was a bit surprised to see... to see Lily with Sirius. I had expected her to be with..." With my father, he thought sadly, sighing to himself, letting the little picture of perfection that he had created for himself shatter into tiny pieces and get blown away by the image of the young teen sitting before him. In some ways, Harry hoped that James had been murdered, so that he could cling to the belief that they would have been the kind of couple that would have remained madly in love with another throughout their lives.

The girl in front of him must have been studying him very carefully in the dark, because her next statement was spot on. "You're Harry," she said simply.

Well, there's no point lying now, he decided, so he simply nodded.

Seeming to understand things, she continued. "You expected to see mom with James Potter. She's - she's your mother too."

Harry didn't know whether to agree to that or not, since he didn't know whether she was his mother anyway. So he simply remained silent, casting his gaze down to the dark blades of grass and letting his mind drift from one aimless thought to the next. Of all the things he had expected, a half-sister was not one of them.

"And you came here to see your mother," the girl concluded thoughtfully. "That must be why you were able to get past the wards. It recognized your blood."

"Yeah," he confirmed. "Makes sense." Harry wasn't really sure what to say to her. He had imagined, in the deep recesses of his mind, conversations with his mother and his father, all the things he had wanted to say to them over the years; professions of his longing for a family, how he would be a good boy, do what he was told, never disappoint them, work hard, so on and so forth. However, he had never even contemplated the thought of a younger sister; it had never factored into his calculation, so, now, sitting across from such a person, he felt distinctly awkward, at a loss, as if they were two strangers forced together by peculiar circumstances and neither knew quite how to proceed. That was, of course, actually the case, and it was complicated by the fact that they were only half-siblings.

"My name is Sylvia," she said, her soft voice carrying in the quietude.

Harry focused his attention on the girl in front of him. She was lean like he was, only without the look of emaciation with which the neglect during his childhood had contorted his frame. He smiled at her, recognizing her attempt to break the ice. "It's nice to meet you, Sylvia," he said, extending one hand.

"It's nice to meet you too," she replied, accepting the handshake.

"So," Harry said, searching for a workable topic and deciding on Hogwarts. "You're a Huffelpuff."

She nodded, and Harry could feel more than see her blushing. "It's not exactly Gryffindor, is it?"

"There's nothing wrong with Huffelpuff," Harry responded instantly.

She merely smiled. "Yeah, that's what mom and dad said the second I told them."

"Do you play Quidditch?" Harry asked, determined not to let the conversation drift into stormy waters.

The question seemed to be a good one, because she brightened up considerably. "Seeker," she said instantly. "Youngest in a century too," she said, and then blushing again, realizing that she probably sounded as though she were bragging.

"Brilliant," Harry said, ignoring her embarrassment, elated to hear that his half-sister was just like him. "I bet you're a natural on a broom."

"Yeah," she said, the feel of warm memories lacing her voice. "Dad was proud."

Harry supposed that, if things were a bit different, he might have been jealous of her, but, knowing all too acutely the absence of family, the solitude and the sorrow, he found nothing but a wonderful warmth radiating through him at the fact that Sylvia made her dad proud, like protecting what they had was his job; it was what he lived for.

"Next time you play Slytherin, be sure to kick their ass extra good."

Sylvia smiled even more widely. "You better believe it. We shut them out last time. Caught the snitch in under half an hour. Caught it right out from under the other seeker's nose."

"Brilliant," he said again, echoing his earlier statement.

A silence fell again between them, neither knowing quite what to say. Eventually, Sylvia asked in a hesitant voice, "Would you like to come inside? You could, you know, meet them."

"That may not be the best idea," Harry said, stifling the multitude of emotional pangs that were cutting into his soul. "Some things are happening, and I think I might have accidentally gotten myself into the middle of them. It's best I don't disrupt things."

"Oh," she said, slightly crestfallen. And then, after a moment, she continued. "Is it because of me?"

"You?" Harry said, baffled. "Why would you think that?"

She merely shrugged. "I s'pose because you really didn't know about me and all that. I just figured maybe you were hoping to come back to your parents and be accepted, and now that you've discovered it's not what you thought it was, you were going to run away again. You know, because of dad and because of me. I didn't think you would have come back just to hide in the bushes and watch, you know? It's like, it seems a bit far and a bit of a long time to stay away just to return for a look."

"Oh," Harry said, not sure what else to say to those comments. They all sounded reasonable, and he wasn't sure how to go about giving her the right impression without delving into all the complexities of his life, including inter-dimensional travel. Finally, he settled on, "I murdered a bunch of aurors the other day." Not to mention being identified in the presence of Lord Voldemort's company. "I doubt your parents would be terribly thrilled to see me at this point."

It was now Sylvia's turn to absorb some very heavy information. At first, all she said was, "Oh," but then, after a time, she continued, "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you murder them?" Funnily enough, Harry couldn't detect a trace of fear in her voice; she simply expressed genuine curiosity.

"They thought I was in the presence of the Dark Lord, and they opened fire on me. I didn't even realize it was aurors until the smoke had cleared, and by then I had downed about eight of them."

"Eight?" she asked, now seeming incredulous. "Eight aurors? On your own?"

Harry nodded.

"Creepers," she said. "How'd you do that?"

Harry shrugged. "One of them was a woman named Nymphadora Tonks-"

"you killed Tonks?" Sylvia cut in, her eyes widening in shock.

"No, no, I didn't. She was one of the two left standing. No, wait, there was a couple of more that were just stunned. I think it was only six dead, three stunned and Tonks disarmed. Once I saw her, I knew I wasn't fighting Death Eaters, and so, doing the only thing that made sense, I ran."

Silence fell once again. Eventually, they heard the front door opening and Lily calling out for her daughter in the darkness. "I guess I'd better go," she said quietly, getting to her feet and pocketing her wand.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, a lump rising in his throat as he watched his parallel reality half-sister walk away, desperately wishing he could follow her into the warmth of that family home, into the warmth of his mother's embrace. Belatedly, he realized that he never even found out if his father were still alive.

Sylvia had been surprised, to say the least. Meeting her supposedly dead half-brother, who she hadn't heard hide nor hair about since she had asked about the round-faced little green-eyed boy in some of the family pictures seven years ago, had distinctly unnerved her. He radiated this strange sort of icy calm, as though he had been touched by death and had, not only survived it, but grown accustomed to it. He didn't seem evil, but he didn't seem overly bothered by having murdered people either; nor did he think that taking down trained dark wizard hunters was a big deal. He seemed incredibly sad, and yet, his eyes lit up when she mentioned her accomplishments, much like she would expect a parent to do when reflecting on nostalgic memories.

"What's wrong?' her mother asked, seeing Sylvia's intense thoughtfulness. She briefly considered not telling her parents, but decided that, despite the conversation and the implicit trust that he inspired in her, her loyalty was ultimately to her parents and they, quite frankly, knew best. Especially since he could breach the wards, and that, at least, was something they should know about.

"Well, mom," she began. "I met someone today. A boy, in fact."

"Oh?" said Lily, continuing to slice carrots muggle-style and instinctively glancing at the kitchen entrance to see if Sirius were trying to sneak in again. "You met him at the park?"

"Er, no. He was hiding in the bushes spying on you."

Lily's knife stopped dead in mid slice, and she looked up at Sylvia, who was still trying to figure out how best to say the words 'Harry Potter'.

"You met a boy who was hiding in a bunch of bushes spying on me?" Lily asked, echoing her daughter's words as if trying to taste them.

"Yes, actually."

"When? Where? Who was he?"

"It was right here, and I was talking to him right up until you called me in."

Lily now put down the knife with an audible click as it touched down on the cutting board. "I think you'd better start making sense, because I'm growing somewhat concerned. Sylvia, what are you talking about? Who was this person? Is he dangerous? How did he get onto the property? Is he magical?"

Sylvia supposed she should have simply blurted out the name from the outset and then let the confusion clear itself away, because it probably would have been less hassle than going through the tedious process of simply trying to ease her mother into the news. "He must be about seventeen, yes he's magical, and his name is Harry. Harry Potter."

A long silence ensued in which Sylvia could actively see the words filtering through the various layers of her mother's consciousness, the import of Sylvia's words hitting her, the magnitude of it, the impossibility and the beauty and terror all coming together. "Harry?" she asked softly. "Harry Potter."

"Er, yes."

"He was here?"

Sylvia nodded. "Reckon he came to see you."

Lily continued to mouth words silently, as if reciting a long poem and trying to memorize it for an upcoming performance.

"Mom?" Sylvia asked.

"So it's true," Lily said, looking off into the wall, no longer seeing her daughter. "It was him at Hogwarts. But it can't be. he's dead; it has to be a glamour or, or polyjuice or a muggle costume or a likeness or something. It-"

"Mom," Sylvia cut in. "It was him. I think, I think maybe he had amnesia or something, or maybe he has been gone from Britain for a really long time, because he didn't know certain things." Except that he said he was a Gryffindor, Sylvia thought, realizing suddenly that his story didn't quite add up. How could he be a Gryffindor? How could he have gone to Hogwarts, when her father worked there? Suddenly Sylvia was terribly unsure of herself. Who had she just spent the last twenty minutes talking to? It couldn't have been him, since he's dead and since - again, Sylvia's thoughts were cut off when she remembered that he had penetrated the wards. Ever since the return of the Dark Lord, Lily had erected enchantments on their property so complex and so sound that no one on Earth could break them. She had spent ten long years developing some of the most intensive magical structures for home protection, committing herself to never let the fate of her first child befall any of her future children.

"You say you're sure it's him?" Lily asked in a quiet, yet commanding voice. "Why?"

Sylvia shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose it's because he seemed sincere, and because he seemed, well, sad, I guess. He asked me about school, and I told him I was in Huffelpuff. He told me it's a wonderful house, and that he was proud of me being a seeker. It just sounded... nice. Brotherly, I guess."

"You should have come and gotten either me or your father, Sylvia. We have no idea who came here, and we have no idea how he managed to breach the wards. This is serious. What were you doing just chatting with him?"

"I couldn't help it," Sylvia said. "When I saw him skulking around in the bushes, I-" However, Sylvia found that she was at a loss to explain just why it was that she hadn't gone inside. Had she been trying to prove something by capturing him? "I thought I could stop him. You know, disarm him and be an adult. Do adult things, you know? I'm sorry, mom. I should have just gone in and gotten you."

Lily reached out and drew Sylvia in to an embrace. "It's okay," she said. "Just, just don't do that again. God, how I worry about you. I worry about you everyday. I swear, if this is some kind of a cruel joke..."

"It's okay. He didn't hurt me. He could have; he could have done all kinds of things to me, but he didn't. I swear. He even disarmed me and used that petrificus totalis spell we learned at school-"

"He cursed you!" Lily exclaimed, gripping Sylvia's shoulders and looking intensely into her eyes.

"No, no, it's not like that," Sylvia said. "I threatened him. I'm surprised he let me continue threatening him as long as I did. He didn't even seem the slightest bit bothered by it; as though the whole thing were kind of amusing to him. "And then, he just waved his hand around and cursed me, without even uttering a word, without a wand, and then he just asked me not to scream and uncursed me and gave me my wand back. Then we sat down together on the grass and talked."

"And he said his name was Harry?"

Sylvia nodded. "Yeah. He said you're his mum. He's my half-brother."

"It can't be," Lily said, repeating herself from earlier on. "It just can't be."

It wasn't long before Sirius was filled in on the details, shortly after which they were contacted by Albus Dumbledore no les, who informed them of the theft at Quality Quidditch and the identified perpetrator being the butcher of Hogwarts. And so, it was a long, restless night for the Blacks, all of whom had mixed feelings about the stranger that had come into their lives, the main question in all their minds being, Who are you?


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

The Cheshire Cat

It had been three days since Harry's visit to Godric's Hollow. He had returned extremely late that night to the Leaky Cauldron, having made a midnight pit stop both to Flourish & Blotts and also to Knockturn Alley, where he went about pillaging through bookstores in search of information on locater charms, as well as anything else he could use to get by, including conjuring. If he could do a decent enough conjuring job, he figured his need for money would drop considerably; not to mention he could counterfeit bills and get them laundered in the muggle world, whereupon he could return to Gringotts and have them converted into galleons. It was all around illegal, and while that bothered him somewhat, he found he could lock up his conscience tightly enough not to get in his way. He was, after all, in the midst of a crisis and a little forethought would go a long way in terms of avoiding confrontations.

He was mildly disturbed to find that Minnie had disappeared, and prayed that she hadn't been stupid enough to go into the muggle world, for she would certainly not be able to find her way back. Resolving not to lament over the loss of his last companion, he forced himself to buckle down and begin searching for various methods of tracking and locating people. The sooner he managed to do that, the sooner he could round up his missing compadres and get the hell out of there.

It was on the fourth day, all the while under a basic illusion charm, eating fish and chips at the Leaky Cauldron, having been able to convert his conjured money into real dollars and finally dispense with the Imperius Curse, that he ran across the strangest sight he ever saw. Ron and Malfoy were chumming it up, both of whom were wearing the usual 'I'm a pureblood bastard' attire. It wasn't the Malfoy part that boggled his mind so much. It was the Ronald Weasley element that seemed to be throwing him for a loop. Ron? he thought curiously. Taking another bite and eyeing them speculatively as they ordered food in the most arrogant way possible, turning their nose up at everything, including old Tom the barkeep, and looking upon all the other patrons with haughty disdain, Harry felt an acute pang of loss at the absence of his two best friends. So engrossed was he in his memories and in staring at the two purebloods, he completely missed Ginny, who was swaggering over to where they were sitting and, to Harry's further chagrin, and mild annoyance, kissed Malfoy sloppily and greedily and wetly - ooh, gross, Harry thought - full on the lips. Then, to his dismay, she pointed out Harry to them and communicated something, which Harry realized quickly, was not a good thing. She must have seen me looking at them for what was probably longer than what passes for polite interest. Both boys narrowed their eyes and appraised Harry in a Slytherin sort of way, which made sense for Malfoy, but looked just plain wrong on Ron.

Harry focused his attention on his food, praying they would leave him alone, all the while keeping a third eye on their presence at all times. However, it was not meant to be. They approached, Malfoy and Ron taking position directly opposite Harry and studying him carefully. Peripherally, he noticed that Tom was looking apprehensively at Harry, and seemed to be silently begging him not to start trouble. If you only knew that I had you under the Imperius for the last week, he thought grimly. You may not be so quick to get worked up over my well-being.

"Looks a bit like a duffer, don't you think?" Ron asked, as if inspecting a doll or a mannequin or something.

"Yeah, a bit low on the food chain, if you ask me."

"A mudblood. Half-breed at best."

"And without two knuts to rub together, from the look of it."

Both snickered.

Christ, Harry thought. It's like hanging out with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. "Is there something I can help you with?" Harry asked in as polite a tone as possible.

"Definitely can't be a pureblood," Malfoy scoffed contemptuously. And then, turning to Harry as if acknowledging he were there for the first time, commanded in an imperious tone, "I've never seen you around Hogwarts. Where do you go to school?"

Harry was a bit surprised by the question. He supposed, reflecting on it, that they assumed they had a right to pump him for information. Perhaps the few initial comments were part of their intimidation routine. heck, keeping him off guard by forcing him to talk about himself was probably just another step in pushing people around; he supposed he should probably be taking notes. The tactics probably worked really well on younger kids. Even Harry was having trouble coming up with a decent response, or at least, something less belligerent than - "bugger off," he said finally, looking directly into Malfoy's eyes while he said this.

Malfoy in turn, sharpened his gaze, his expression turning dangerously predatory. "Mate, I think we have ourselves a tough guy."

Harry was reminded strongly of that cool summer morning back at the Old Place, back on his second day at Mosaics, with the demons. Keeping his hands under the table, Harry silently conjured a snake, and silently cast the Imperius curse on it, willing it to go forward and wrap itself around Ron's leg. Simultaneously, he silenced Malfoy just as he was in mid-speech. The abrupt silence caught him off guard, and he crossed his eyes just as TNT had done, as if trying to look at his own mouth to see just why the sound had stopped.

"What's the matter, Malfoy? Cat got your tongue?"

Peripherally, he noticed that many of the patrons had stopped what they were doing and were now watching the unfolding display with interest. Some of them looked amused, others apprehensive, and yet others still wore inscrutable expressions. "Mate?" Ron asked, glancing over at Malfoy. "What's the matter?"

This only served to incense the blond-haired Slytherin, as he had already spent the last thirty seconds in utter silence, first trying to figure out what had happened and then trying to communicate through wild hand gestures to his partner. Harry simply sat back and enjoyed the show, a smile curling the edge of his lips, as he watched the seeds of chaos take hold. Malfoy resorted to drawing his wand, which, under the circumstances, was a rather threatening step, but instead of pointing it at Harry or anyone else, he simply pointed it at himself and clearly, to Harry anyway, mouthed the words 'finite incantanum'. Unfortunately, this did not have the intended effect. Will wonders never cease, thought Harry, now more amused than ever. The ferret can't even cast wordlessly.

"Er, Draco?" Ron continued uncertainly.

"It was Ginny who finally put it together. Stepping next to Draco and clinging to his arm in a very Pansy Parkinson, sycophantic sort of way, she said, all the while pointing a finger at Harry, "He did something to him. Probably's got his wand stowed under the table. Must have been the silencing charm."

Malfoy started nodding vehemently and pointing at Harry to accuse him.

"Harry simply steepled his fingers and leaned forward onto the table with his elbows. Ron simply drew his wand to dispel the charm. "Er, Ron?" Harry asked in as polite as a tone as he could muster under the circumstances.

"What?" Ron asked, irritated at having been interrupted while he prepared to cast the counter-charm.

"You may wish to look down."

"Huh?" he asked, blinking in confusion.

It was Ginny who looked down first, and, seeing the six foot long adder that was slithering under the hem of Ron's robes, screamed in terror and took several steps back.

God, this is too easy, Harry thought. You should really stop baiting them.

"Wha-?" Ron asked, looking down and not quite comprehending the sight of the dark tail of the snake and all that it meant as it disappeared under his robes - that is until he felt it crawling up his leg. "Aack!" he exclaimed, a look of utter horror stealing over his features. Unlike Ginny, who was now putting distance between herself and them, Ron merely stood frozen in place, all his attention transfixed by the feel of the cold body sliding along his leg, all the while hissing, its forked tongue wetting Ron's thighs.

Malfoy, meanwhile, had backed up too, though for no particular reason, except that he didn't understand what exactly was wrong with Ron, and because he himself had been effectively crippled.

Harry leaned forward and drew Ron's attention with the sound of his voice, which had softened to a sibilant hiss. "Now listen to me, Weasley," he said, his eyes boring into Ron's. "You're just a hair's breadth away from death. You may or may not be aware that there is a giant snake under your pants, and it has contented itself to stay there for a little while. As long as I will it there, in fact. Its fangs, are highly poisonous and will drop you dead within seconds of a single bite. All it will take is a single thought from me; just one command, and your life will be extinguished." Harry snapped his fingers for effect. "Just like that," he said. "Now, I trust that you're a pretty smart guy, and that you'll understand when I say that the best course of action for you and your cronies to take is to go back to your table at the other end of the room and sit down nice and quiet like. You're going to go about finishing your meal and then you're going to leave, and once you've done that, and you've left, and you've managed not to piss me off in the process, you'll find yourself no longer in mortal peril. Are we clear, Weasley?"

Ron couldn't help but nod feebly, an act which satisfied Harry to no end.

"Good," Harry said, leaning back. "go then and do not bother me again. Ever."

And that was how Ron ended up eating lunch with a really big snake molesting his lower half.

Minnie had managed to hitch rides with four different truckers, getting all the way to the very spot where Harry had touched down with his new broom. She had sensed that the ethereal waves of energy had stopped pulsing, but still, the lingering sent of it remained in the air, wherever Harry had ended up had left a kind of beacon afterthought that still pulled her towards it. However, it was in the midst of the Black's lawn, which was heavily warded against magical and muggle intrusion, and as such, despite Minnie's efforts, which were enough to drive her past the repulsion wards and bring her to the inner ward sanctum, was not enough to take her all the way. She was hit with a powerful sleep charm from mutated Dreamweed that was growing in Lily's magical garden. As such, Minnie fell asleep and remained that way until Sirius found her lying prone on the lawn, face first in a shrub, snoring no less.

Well, he thought to himself, you don't see that everyday. Sirius knelt next to the girl and checked her vitals, which seemed to be fine. Then he made a swishing motion with his wand, and ascertained that she was mostly muggle, though there appeared to be a slight vila element somewhere in her blood. Interesting, he thought, returning to a standing position and nudging her with the tip of his boot. Of course, he realized after a moment of pondering. The anti-muggle Dreamweed. Not actually knowing how to counter one of Lily's personal charms, he did the only sensible thing and began calling for his wife. "Oy, Lily! Muggle on the lawn!" And, with that out of the way, Sirius apparated to work, or at least, as close to it as he could get.

The Fidelius

The Fidelius Charm is among one of the most ancient and complex charms in the known wizarding world. It requires mastery in all of Potions, Transfiguration and Charms, making it one of the most demanding spells to execute. So demanding is it that only a handful of wizards and witches on the planet have been able to cast it over the last two thousand years, and, as such, it has remained both obscure and irrelevant to daily living. The term 'Charm' in the title of the spell is misleading, because the Fidelius is actually a layering of seven distinct spells and three potions. Lesser versions of the Fidelius have been constructed using fewer spells and fewer potions, but they do not achieve the same level of security. Unlike other wards and protections, the Fidelius renders the object of the charm impregnable to outsiders, the only weak link being the Secret Keeper. The beauty of the charm, however, is that the secret keeper can take refuge within the charmed environment, making the protection of the charm recursive and thus foolproof. Only if the secret keeper chooses to expose him or herself by leaving the charmed area does he or she risk exposing the charmed area to potential threats.

Three of the spells required fall under the category of Charms, two under Transfiguration and one under Defense Against the Dark Arts. These six spells are amongst some of the most difficult to cast, and require mastery in the area of magic before a witch or wizard can properly execute them. While these spells are difficult enough on their own, it is the last spell that causes witches and wizards the most difficulty. This spell is a light spell that has not been classified. Scholars today cannot agree on how to understand the spell either through its arithmantic components or through its purpose. It is regarded, therefore, as simply light magic, similar to that of Merlin's spells, many of which have not been executed since Merlin himself. For a history of the uses of the Fidelius and its tactical and strategic advantages and disadvantages, flip to page eight. For a breakdown of the spells used in the Fidelius's execution, flip to page 16. For the potions used, flip to page 92. For a breakdown of the arithmancy relating to both the potions and spells, flip to page 224.

Page 24.

The defense spell used in the Fidelius is known as the Null Shield. Unlike conventional shields, which create barriers to incoming spells, thereby deflecting or absorbing them, the null shield creates a magical vacuum. Spells that enter the non-magic field experience magic depressurization, effectively causing the spell to diffuse harmlessly as the spell is pulled apart to fill out the non-magical field. The Null Shield is known to be effective against all spells, excluding the three unforgiveables, and, theoretically, all spells based on soul magic.

The Null Shield can take the form of just about any shape, ranging from a spherical ball to a disc, to toruses and cones. This makes the shield extremely versatile, because a caster can, in theory, surround himself with the shield, effectively cocooning himself and others around him from attacks. It should be noted that the size and the complexity of the shape impact the difficulty of the spell. The threshold for execution of the shield is already extremely high, in part because it requires extreme focus and in part because it requires in-depth magical knowledge, or, in some cases, intuition.

The null field is generated by a thin layer of magic that extends from the caster to encompass the null field. Spells based on soul magic, such as the unforgiveables, connect to a caster's magic, and so will connect through this thin layer and travel through the layer, thus circumnavigating the field altogether, rendering the shield useless against the unforgiveables except under certain circumstances. The manner in which the shield is used for the purposes of the Fidelius is to affix the field to an object, thus detaching the energy from the caster. In this respect, the shield will be effective against all forms of magic. Note, placing yourself within the field will render you incapable of casting magic. As well, your magical core will be suppressed, which may have associated side effects, like reduced immune function. Prolonged exposure may have unknown, permanent side effects, including trauma to one's magical core. Very little is known about these effects. It is important that the caster be competent enough to cast the shield so that it forms the correct shape for the charmed area, if it is expected that the charmed area is meant to provide a suitable environment for habitation. The shield should be sufficiently hollowed out so that the field does not impinge on the daily living of the inhabitants.

Lily was confused, to say the least. It had come as something of a shock to hear that her supposedly dead son may very well be alive and running about. It was the kind of news that lent itself to endless questions, to the reopening of old wounds, to the surfacing of new ones - especially when it came part and parcel with the news that the central character in question was, in all likelihood in the service of Lord Voldemort, and that, at the very least, he was pretty much guilty of murdering a bunch of aurors while fleeing Hogwarts, not to mention the use of the Imperius curse against several unsuspecting innocent people, and the theft of the world's most advanced broom, the Orbital, the protections over which he apparently shattered - and wandlessly to boot.

As impressive and rather frightening as all those things were, which made Lily think that, on a rational level at least, she should treat him like any other hostile agent and simply wash her hands of the whole affair, the simple fact was that she loved him. Or at least, would if he were truly her son. She had also had the presence of mind to point out that the figure had stolen the broom for the apparent purpose of flying to Godric's Hollow to spy on her and James Potter. Secretly, that rather pleased her to no end, though it did little to answer the multitude of questions that were flitting through her brain as she baked muffins on that blustery Saturday afternoon. She had barred Sylvia from leaving the premises until the whole sordid mess had been dealt with - an act that greatly annoyed her daughter, who retaliated by throwing a tantrum and locking herself in her bedroom.

"YOU NEVER LET ME GO ANYWHERE!" she had wailed, slamming her door for effect. "IT'S ALWAYS ABOUT THE BLOODY WAR! DO THIS SYLVIA! DO THAT SYLVIA! YOU HAVE TO! IT'S THE WAR'S FAULT, SYLVIA, NOT MINE. WELL, SCREW THE BLOODY WAR! I HATE IT ALL!"

Lily just sighed and continued baking her muffins, not knowing what else to do. She was young enough that she still understood how children thought; how even trivial things could loom like cataclysms in the mind of a child, and the only remedy she knew for those injustices was simple time, and when, Sylvia had cooled enough, she would go talk to her and they would hammer out some sort of compromise, which would probably be shattered come the next day, when new revelations about the situation were uncovered.

And then of course there was the strange girl they had found slumped on the lawn. At first, Lily was downright surprised by the fact that a muggle had penetrated the outer layers of the anti-muggle wards. It would have taken great strength of will or determination to push past the notice-me-nots and Diversion Charm, which meant that the girl was clearly fixated on entering the charmed region, though for what purpose was anyone's guess. Lily was fairly certain it had to do with Harry; a deduction which had proven correct when she said his name upon waking. What was more disturbing is that, in her bleary state, the muggle had been looking directly at Lily, had been looking directly into her eyes and seemed to have recognized her, as though the muggle had mistaken Lily for her son. And Sylvia had said he had green eyes. A very uncommon colour.

The oven chimed, indicating that the muffins were ready. Lily took them out and took two and put them on plates, which she then brought to the living room. She wasn't terribly comfortable doing this, but she needed answers and this seemed like the only recourse available to her. Baked into the muffins was a combination Calming draft and fidelity draft. It wouldn't make the girl tell her the truth, but it would at least let Lily know which of the muggle's answers were false.

Minnie was looking about interestedly at the multitude of photos that lined the walls and the mantel of the fireplace, as though she were curious about the nature of family dynamics. Lily supposed that Minnie, like Harry, probably had had a strange life. She took a moment to study the girl, her deep, golden hair that cascaded down her backside in long smooth streams, the soft lines of her eyes and nose and mouth; her unmarred skin, the glitter in her eyes, the fullness in her red lips, her gentle lashes. Lily would have thought the girl to spend much of her life grooming herself to be a doll, except that the grace and eloquence of her visage was naturally present. She seemed to make the tattered, grass-stained clothes that clearly didn't quite fit her look stunning. It was nearly magical the way she exuded an aura of intimacy and child-like naiveté, which, unlike the power of vilas, which tended to suppress the rational element of members of the opposite sex, was acquired by virtue of some inner divine beauty. It was as though she were the child of God, and only those few lucky blessed enough to feel the awesome warmth flowing from her could truly appreciate just what she meant to the world. If Lily were fifteen years younger, she would probably be incredibly jealous of the muggle girl.

"Ahem," she said, gathering Minnie's attention. "I thought you might be hungry."

Minnie looked up from the family photo that she was now holding in her hands, her silver eyes locking with Lily's emerald ones before focusing on the plate of muffins. "Yes, actually. Thank you." Minnie returned the photo to the mantel and took a seat in an armchair, though Lily noted she didn't lean back and make herself comfortable. Instead, she kept her back straight and her hands resting on her lap, as if aware that she were in the presence of an extremely dangerous being. Lily put the plate of muffins down on the glass coffee table that was between them, and took a seat opposite her. "so," Lily began in as gentle a voice as possible. "Why don't you tell me a bit about yourself?"

Lily picked up a muffin and bit into it. She was confident that she had enough tolerance to the Fidelity draft that she wouldn't be as obvious about showing signs of deception, and she figured the Calming draft wouldn't really hurt her during the process.

"I don't really know what to say," Minnie said hesitantly, her brows furrowing in concentration as she considered Lily's statement. "I mean, there's a lot about me. I'm sure you don't want to know everything."

"Why don't we start with your name?" Lily asked.

"My name is Minnie."

Well, that was something, Lily thought. At least I have a name. She wondered if she should cut directly to questions about Harry or if she should amble along asking either irrelevant or indirect questions. This is why you're a healer and not an auror, she told herself; not for the first time. You don't have the knack for this sort of thing. Lily, however, was derailed immediately by Minnie's next statement.

"You're his mother."

It was a rather simple statement, but it nevertheless chilled her to the bone to hear this stranger confirming for her the existence of her would-be dead son. It made her scared, because Minnie seemed to be scrutinizing Lily very carefully, as if understanding Harry through her. "I understand why he had to come and see you," she went on, oblivious to Lily's confusion. "He has your eyes."

When Lily next spoke, she managed only a strained whisper, her own emotions flowing through her in torrents. "How?" It wasn't a very comprehensible question, though Minnie seemed to understand, because she responded in a gentle but firm tone.

"It's not really my story to tell. I don't really know if he'll want to talk about it, because he must be very confused right now." Minnie then went on to demonstrate uncanny insight by saying, "I have no doubt that he has locked you away in his mind and will refuse to even think about it. I imagine seeing you was so huge for him, he didn't even begin to realize the ramifications to his own self until afterwards. You should know that he's dreamt of seeing you for the longest time; to feel loved, to recapture the childhood that was stolen from him. At the same time, he can't, because it contradicts everything he's ever learned; it contradicts the things that have kept him alive this long."

"Where - where has he been?" Lily asked.

Minnie smiled a sad sort of smile; like the way an adult will look upon an innocent child who has asked a naive question. "In another dimension, of course."

They sat in silence for a long time after that, Lily slowly digesting Minnie's few statements. Another dimension? she wondered. It made a strange sort of sense, she decided finally. After all, Harry had been murdered and all the second guessing she had been doing about herself and about James Potter and their failed relationship since news of Harry's return had simply been wearing her down. There had been no helping it; there was nothing she could have done. Eventually, Lily turned to Minnie, a determined resolve in her eyes. "Where is he?"

Minnie stood in one gentle, fluid motion, and clasped one of Lily's hands in hers. "Come and let me show you. We will find him together."

Harry Potter walked into Borgin & Burkes, his wand in hand, the hood of his cloak pulled up to hide his face in shadows. It looked the same as when he had last been in it, back before the start of his second year, when Lucius had come in to unload dark artifacts to avoid Ministry scrutiny. Harry took a moment to look around, enjoying the fact that he could do so without Borgin hanging around and scrutinizing him. The creepy looking hand thing was still there, as well as a number of items that Harry had never seen before. None of them, however, interested him very much, except for perhaps a particularly dangerous looking dagger. It had a simple, black rubber grip and a gleaming white blade that looked really really sharp. Keeping his wand in hand, he checked to see if there were any wards preventing him from picking it up. There were none, but there was a perimeter ward that ensured he wouldn't take it too far away without suffering dire consequences. He simply nulled it.

The handle felt warm and comforting in his hand, like old friends reunited after a long time.

"May I help you?" came Borgin's voice from somewhere behind Harry. He turned around casually, still holding the dagger and then made a show of sizing up the creepy store owner. It had not gone unnoticed to Harry that the man was speaking to him with an antagonistic tone.

"Now, now," Harry said in an infuriatingly calm and relaxed tone. "You don't need to be like that." Harry flicked his hood back to reveal his startling, emerald eyes and his messy black hair that made him a dead ringer for James Potter. He then cocked his head to one side and gave Borgin a questioning look. It seemed to take a moment for the old man to understand what it was that Harry was offering, or perhaps to decide whether to trust the kid. Eventually, Borgin made a decision and drew his wand, pointing it to Harry and saying, 'Legilimans." Harry felt the probe and directed it to his use of the Imperius, his theft of the Orbital broom, the murder of the aurors, before cutting Borgin off and making a show of looking around at the items in the store once more. After letting a moment pass so that the old man could collect himself, he then said, "No doubt you're wondering why your wards didn't alert you when I entered. Fear not, they were working fine." Harry paused, and, after a moment of thinking about it, he added, "Well, they were working. I can't say for sure what state they're in now." He turned and gave Borgin a hard, penetrating stare. "I trust we can come to an agreement over a few things."

"You the Potter boy?" Borgin asked, clearly shaken and trying to recapture some semblance of control.

Harry simply replied. "I'm not really going to answer that question." And then, he added, "But I would like to do a little bit of bargaining."

Borgin's eyes narrowed, as if suddenly scrutinizing Harry for the first time. In all honesty, Harry wasn't much to look at. He was abnormally scrawny, short, his hair was constantly mussed. On the upshot, at least he didn't wear glasses anymore. Still, despite his rather minute frame and sickly pallor, he cut a disturbing sight with his green eyes and intense gaze and his posture which communicated the simple message: I will kill you if you piss me off.

"What do you want?" Borgin finally asked.

"Tell me everything you know about this blade," he commanded, holding up the knife.

Borgin complied, saying, "It is known as Odin's Dirk. It is made from nundu bone and dried basilisk gore. It is highly magical at a core level and will permanently deform anything it cuts. If you want it, it will cost you a lot of money."

"Funny that you should have it on display in your front window," Harry mused.

"Only he who has dealt with a basilisk personally can even see the weapon," Borgin replied. "Now, I ask you again, who are you. And this time, I expect an answer."

Harry burst out laughing. "Don't tell me you've dealt with a basilisk, Borgin. It's laughable to think you could handle one."

"I'll have you know I have the only basilisk egg in the entire country."

Harry stopped laughing and turned a steely gaze to the man. In a voice that commanded obedience, he said, "Show me."

And so, that was how Harry found himself staring at a basilisk egg. Borgin's one and only, it was a prized possession of his; one of the few eggs that had come into existence and could be gazed upon by mortal eyes. "My God," Harry whispered reverently, the creature inside singing to him. "Where did you get such a thing?"

Borgin replied in a whisper, fear and awe tinging his voice as he spoke. "There's only one being alive that could have brought me such a creature. He has asked that I keep her for him. You know of whom I speak. It is the Dark Lord himself. It is said that you stormed Dumbledore's school with You-Know-Who himself at your side. You killed those aurors and walked away. They say you are a member of his secret police; that you must be one of his most trusted and guarded allies. They say you are the Colonel."

Harry listened with only mild interest, until he heard the term Colonel. Did such a person exist? He did not know, but he was most curious to find out, and at the moment, if it helped him to lead Borgin on, then Harry was happy to do it. He had already planned to come in and pretend to be a badass dark artist. Playing off Voldemort was just a plus, as far as he was concerned.

"You will give me the basilisk," Harry said in his authoritative voice. Still, Borgin balked, looking unsure as to whether he should comply with this command. Borgin had been informed by Lucius Malfoy himself about the importance of this egg, and he was not confident in giving it up to just anyone without confirmation. Harry saw all this and was prepared to do whatever it took to have the basilisk egg. so, he simply turned to it, ignoring Borgin and speaking in Parseltongue. "Come, child. Come, king of snakes. Come to me and join me."

From the corner of his eye, Harry could see that Borgin was taken aback by Harry's use of the ancient language of snakes, and was more so when the egg began to hatch, having obeyed Harry's command. In a fit of terror, Borgin fled, not wanting to be subjected to the wrath of a basilisk, for, as any good pureblooded witch or wizard knew, the basilisk could kill at a glance. Harry simply waited patiently, Marv's voice speaking in his head; a statement made in a world far away. Tell me, Harry, is Legilimancy a fundamentally magical phenomenon? Harry now knew the answer. He understood it like it had always been with him. Yes. Yes, it was.

The tiny little snake poked its head out of the shell, the wet membrane from inside making its yellow eyes and greyish-green skin glisten. "Mother," it hissed.

"No, child," said Harry, looking straight into the creature's eyes. "I am not your mother."

"Then where is she?" asked it. "Where is the one that will care for me?"

Harry smiled a warm, gentle smile. "I will care for you, child."

"then you will be my mother," it hissed.

Harry shook his head. "No I will not. You must understand, child. Your mother is dead. But I will take her place, if you wish me to. If you do not, then I will understand that as well, and you may be on your way to go in search of that which you seek."

The basilisk infant seemed to consider this for a long time, and then, coming to a decision, understanding and resolve in its eyes, it said to Harry, "I understand. My mother is dead. You are not my mother. But you will take care of me. I will join you until I choose otherwise."

Harry nodded. "Indeed, that is wise of you, child. Come then, and let us go. I will transfigure you so that your eyes do not kill all that they see."

And so, the basilisk slithered onto Harry's outstretched hand, trundled along his arm, and curled itself around his bicep, and then promptly fell asleep. He then turned around to discover that Borgin was looking at him with a renewed fear and awe, much the same as when he spoke of the Dark Lord Voldemort. "You truly are a Parselmouth," he said quietly, his gaze flicking between Harry and the snake.

"Consider me to be the Dark Lord's heir," Harry said breezily. One day, Borgin would have to answer for his missing basilisk, and the Dark Lord would be most displeased to find out someone was pretending to be his heir. Undoubtedly, the Dark Lord's wrath would come down on poor, hapless Borgin. Harry wasn't particularly bothered by this. In fact, he was sure that he was downright apathetic to the whole thing. And, while he'd found two very interesting things to aid him in his future endeavours, he still had not fulfilled the task he had set for himself when he elected to come to the dark arts shop.

"There is only one thing left," Harry said, glancing down at his new familiar with affection. Still not looking at Borgin, he went on, "Tell me everything you know about a certain dark haired boy that worked here back in the fifties. I believe his name was Tom Riddle."

Borgin seemed confused by the statement, as if trying to piece together what some insignificant kid from so long ago would have to do with a fearsome Parselmouth in league with the Dark Lord. Still, he obliged, telling Harry everything he knew over several glasses of Firewhisky, which Borgin drank greedily, and which Harry simply vanished wandlessly little by little, only pretending to drink it. - a technique he learned from having to deal with Slughorn.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

The Mad Potter

Transfiguratus

The primary transfiguration required for the execution of the Fidelius is known as the Transfiguratus. This is a core spell that requires the caster to bind a self-transfiguration field to the charmed object or area.

Transfiguration is fundamentally different from conjuration, because it relies on the existence of a similarly sized object to be transfigured between two states. Because a body of matter exists prior to the transfiguration, this type of magic tends to be more permanent. conjuration, on the other hand, requires the caster to convert pure magical energy into material objects. Creating objects that won't reduce themselves to their magical constituents is extremely difficult, because it requires a certain fluency with the use of magic. Transfiguring objects of lesser mass to objects of greater mass requires the inclusion of partial conjurations. For this reason, conjuration is often taught in tandem with transfiguration, and, oftentimes, distinctions between the two are elided altogether for the sake of convenience, though this may lead to suboptimal performance. For the purposes of the Fidelius, however, it is critical that students master the underlying concept of mass-magic conversion inherent to this area of study.

Word had gotten out that there was a crazy bad ass hanging around the Leaky Cauldron and that he was a brutal killing machine with no regard for the Ministry, and, quite possibly, in the service of Lord Voldemort. Possibly even an overseas merc from one of those rougher areas on the continent - Transylvania or Hungary or something. No one knew quite what to make of him, whether it be the Dark Lord, who was not happy to have an unknown agent running around usurping his name, or the Ministry, who generally abhorred people who broke their rules, or the Order of the Phoenix, who was against all things Voldemort.

By mid-September, everything came to a head. Harry was contentedly licking some ice cream at Florean and Forteskew's ice cream parlour in Diagon Alley, chatting with Angelina Johnson, who was on break from her job at the Ministry.

"Never been a chaser myself," Harry said, shrugging. "Like to think I'm a pretty good seeker though."

Angelina sat back smiling. "God, would've been nice to have a good seeker while I was in school." She shook her head mournfully. "Five years I was on that bloody team and not a single Quidditch Cup to show for it. Bloody Slytherins."

"Don't tell me you couldn't find a seeker better than Malfoy?" Harry asked, laughing and finishing off the chocolate ice cream on top and proceeding to start on the next layer of his triple-decker ice cream cone.

"Malfoy?" Angelina asked curiously. "The ferret? Hardly. No, Ginny was their bloody seeker. Cruelest human being I've ever had the misfortune of meeting. She once managed to shove a dungbomb down my shirt in the middle of a match; wasn't even bothering to look for the snitch, because they figured they'd just rack up points with the Quaffle. Longest game I ever played, and I stank like a post-match men's room toilet afterwards. Ugh."

"Ugh indeed," Harry said, laughing. "You're such a Gryffindor, Johnson. You should have been paying more attention, or got some dung bombs of your own."

She shrugged. "Like you said, I'm a Gryffindor. Don't really think like that. We like a clean game."

Harry smiled, reflecting on his own memories. "Yeah, Gryffindor's a great house, isn't it?"

"Sure is," she agreed, sipping on her mint chocolate milkshake.

Harry took a moment to just look at his long-time Quidditch mate. Her once short black hair was now grown out and braided into two long braids cascading down to either side of her, broad shoulders and down to her lean, yet firm waist. She still has the chaser build, he mused, appraising her strong, Quaffle throwing/catching arms, her slightly calloused fingers.

"So, what do you do around here?" she asked. "You said you weren't in school. It's a bit late to be vacationing."

Harry shrugged. "Been working a long time. Methinks me want to take it easy for a bit, check out the sights, have a bit of ice cream." He raised his cone into the air like a man giving a toast. "To life, to living it, because you've only got one."

"Cheers," she said, lifting up her milkshake and tapping it lightly against his waffle cone.

They continued to consume food in silence, Harry sometimes looking out the window, marvelling at how pristine the wizarding world was compared to the muggle one. Funny, he thought. With magic, you never have to starve, never have to freeze or go without shelter. There'll never be overpopulating, or pollution.

Harry's musings were cut short by the distinctive feeling of magic settling over him, except that it felt more like layers being stripped off, exposing his skin to cold, nighttime air. Harry looked around confused for a moment, trying to figure out where the feeling was coming from, trying to feel through his magical senses to pinpoint the location of the spell. Only after a moment did he catch Angelina's eye, and the distinctly flabbergasted expression on her face, an expression that was slowly transforming into wide-eyed terror.

"What is it?" he asked.

She tried to speak, horrified by the realization that she was sitting next to a dangerous criminal. "You're Harry Potter," she whispered, backing her chair up and scrambling to grab her wand.

It was then that Harry realized he had been found out. Somebody had stripped off his illusionment charm. Crap, crap, crap, he thought irritably. Of all the-

He dived out of the way, feeling the threads of magic closing in on him from all sides. Damn, damn! Harry flipped over the table and wandlessly banished it in the direction of his disillusioned opponent. He then cast a rain charm, bringing water down from the ceiling everywhere in the ice cream parlour, causing Angelina to shriek in surprise as she whipped out her wand and erected an umbrella to keep herself dry. There were three disillusioned figures in the parlour who were skulking about. One of them cancelled the rain charm, and another undisillusioned himself, revealing none other than Kingsley Shacklebolt. Harry inwardly groaned.

"Put your wand down," he commanded, keeping his own wand trained on Harry, who vaguely noticed that another water soaked invisible person was leaning over the table and checking the pulse of a person. There was a fourth, he mused. Must have hit him with the table.

"I said, put your wand down. You're under arrest.

Harry quirked an eyebrow at Shacklebolt. "And who exactly are you working for at the moment, Kingsley? Would that be the Minister or the Headmaster?"

The auror looked surprised for a moment at Harry's words.

"I tell you what," Harry said. "I let you all live, and we forget this ever happened. Capisce?"

"Stupefy,.

"Protago."

Harry managed to deflect the stunner in the direction of the table, hitting the still sopping wet, disillusioned opponent who was attending to his partner. Kingsley seemed to notice what Harry had done and switched to charming objects around him, intermingling flying transfigurations with binding hexes that Harry normally couldn't repel with shields.

Soon, the parlour turned into a whirlwind of flying objects, ice cream buckets exploding and spraying people with chilly, melting sweet cream. Harry avoided using anything that could be considered remotely lethal, and, as he continued to throw himself around chairs, banishing and levitating them about himself, and tossing off disarming charms and stunners, he finally grew tired of the whole thing and waved his wand in a large circular pattern, willing all the objects to transform into animals of corresponding mass, ranging from insects, to birds to fish and plants and quadrupeds. Suddenly, the ice cream parlour was a complete zoo, and Kingsley spent more of his time trying to fend off butterflies, which, not containing any conjured elements, had stabilized into permanent creatures that he could not simply vanish. In fact, the only way to get rid of them was by killing them outright, which he started to do, determined not to let his quarry escape.

Albus Dumbledore watched from outside, surprised at the level of skill the child had shown in evading the four aurors. He was fast and nimble and made use of his predisposed talents. He was particularly surprised when the child managed to transfigure over twenty distinct objects with one stroke, and did so without any conjuration elements at all, a feat that required a good deal of control over the degree and type of magic released in the transfiguration. He could only think of thirty or so people in the century who graduated from Hogwarts that expressed that level of control without specialized training. Moreover, the strange, green-eyed boy that looked so much like James and Lily did not bear the Dark Mark, as far as he could tell, nor did he reek of dark magic, though there was certainly a bit on him. He seemed hardly like a threat at all and was only a mediocre occlumans who, apparently, liked to chat about Quidditch with a half-blooded witch.

Harry made a break for the street, wandlessly enlarging his broom and throwing one foot over it to take off.

Albus, however, was not prepared to let him go quite so quickly; especially after he had made that comment about Kingsley working for 'the headmaster'. How could a strange child even know about that, after all?

Harry found that his chance at freedom was ripped from him by a heavy feeling of gravity that stole over his limbs. he looked around, and discovered that Albus Dumbledore, greatest wizard alive, Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamet and the only man You-Know-Who ever feared, was materializing in front of him. Oh crap, he bemoaned. The jig is up. Harry crashed to the ground, the Orbital sputtering and dying under the Oppression Charm that the Headmaster was using.

Kingsley, Mad Eye, Tonks and Hestia were all staggering out of the parlour, hairs and fur and feathers and even a fish scale clinging to their bodies with liberally applied streaks of warm sticky cream. "Albus, you have him?" asked Mad Eye, his electric blue eye rolling about and fixing on the boy who was starting to fall unconscious from the Oppression Charm. Now that he was silent and collapsed on the ground, they all saw how small and thin he was, his hair in a state of permanent mussiness, he looking incredibly young and vulnerable.

"This is the dreaded Colonel?" Hestia asked dubiously. "The Potter boy?"

All four turned a questioning gaze to Albus, who kept his eyes focused on the child. "We do not know who he is," the old man said finally. "There are still many questions that need answering. I believe that he is the best place to start. Perhaps we should get him to a place that is more private, and then I can lift the Diversion Charm and the Oppression Charm and reconvene later. Allister, do you have the portkey."

"Aye, Albus."

"Good," he said. "Let us proceed then."

The foursome took hold of Harry and deployed the portkey to their secret headquarters in muggle London, leaving Albus to clean up the mess of Florean's ice cream parlour and right everything in Diagon Alley for all the innocent, unsuspecting shoppers.

Harry had been placed in a specialized observation room in Grimmauld Place. In another space and time, it was once regarded as Buckbeak's den, but, in this one, it had been outfitted with a myriad of special charms, including a braided ward, which consisted of three separate spells interwoven together. In this case, it was a null field, an Oppression Charm and a Confundus charm. Braiding was a special process developed by Albus Dumbledore himself and had many advantages, which, in time, Harry would learn about.

"Who is he, Albus?" Minerva asked, staring at the petite form of Harry Potter lying peacefully on the double-bed. Others murmured similar interest in the answer to that question.

"From all accounts," Albus said, sighing, "he is Harry James Potter, son of Lily Evans and James Potter."

"It's not possible," Sirius piped in, never taking his eyes off the boy. "He's dead. I saw him myself, that day. I was there not five minutes after the Fidelius fell."

"I know, I know," Albus agreed. "I have even gone to the trouble of investigating the remains that were buried at the Potter graves. It looks untouched, which means that, in all likelihood, the Dark Lord has taken necromancy to levels never before conceived."

Gasps could be heard through the crowds, chilling each of the seven inner circle Order members who stood behind Albus, all of them glancing nervously between their comrades and the seemingly harmless boy in the Observation room. "Albus, are you saying that You-Know-Who managed to resurrect him? Completely? Flawlessly?"

Albus sighed. "I can construct no other workable theory, Hestia. Believe me, it is a terrifying prospect to behold. It would mean that Voldemort has broken the bounds of magic and there may be no telling what he can now do. However, I do wonder if there is perhaps a stranger and more unworldly explanation that could account for this. My reasoning is simply that, if Voldemort had created such beings, we would probably not have discovered it through these means."

"Is it possible that he is the one who set off the alarms at the school?" Severus asked. "It seemed clear that the Dark Lord was not with him, and yet the wards told us quite the opposite."

"I have looked into that, and the answer is simply no. The boy does not set off the detection wards. While I can sense some darkness in him, it is mild, less than yours, and certainly he does not bear the Dark Mark. I suspect that he may have killed those aurors simply because they were a threat to him. From what Nymphadora has told us in her report, it seems likely that he simply panicked and knew only that he was being attacked."

"But he used the imperius. Repeatedly," Mr. Weasley said. "It's enough to land him a life sentence."

Albus nodded. "Indeed. I cannot say I approve of his methods, but, given that he may have had little alternative. He may have come to the school seeking assistance, and, realizing the predicament he was in, simply fled and used all the skills at his disposal to survive."

"You are making excuses for him," Snape said, but Dumbledore did not reply.

It was Sirius who spoke next. "We need to tell Lily. And James too, I reckon."

"I think that may be unwise," Dumbledore responded. "She may be too close to this. And there are so many unanswered questions. Let us wait until we can interrogate the boy before we risk exposing your family to him. You know she will most likely attempt to force her way here. She attempted to find him on her own with that muggle girl."

Sirius nodded. "I still don't understand why the muggle poses such a threat."

Dumbledore sighed. "I know you don't. There are certain things that are better kept secret. Suffice it to say, I am confident the girl is safe, but some of her associations are questionable."

"You probed her mind?"

"I did."

The group lapsed into silence, content to watch the rise and fall of Harry's chest as he lay motionless before them. Moody's magical eye remained unusually focused, minutely shifting position every few seconds to comb over every detail of the boy's body, searching for any clue; any sign of danger. Finally, he spoke up, "The boy is concealing something."

All eyes fell on the paranoid ex-auror, interested to hear what he had discovered. He continued, "the curve of the fabric on his clothes, around his right bicep his bulged out. I'm not certain, but there seems to be something there; something I bet can make itself invisible. It may be an armband - no, wait - it's shifting. It's alive, whatever it is. It seems to be moving about, and is sliding down his arm, if the rustling of his shirt is any indication, and now it is making tracks up his torso, like a thin line. Possibly a snake. A small one, if my guess is correct, and it seems to have curled up near his head. Don't know."

"He has a snake?" Sirius asked, dismay creeping into his voice. "What kind of a snake? Albus, can you cancel the disillusionment charm?"

"It's not a disillusionment charm," Moody replied instantly. "It's something else. I'm almost willing to bet it's the Chameleon transfiguration."

More muttered whispering broke out amongst the group.

"That is some rather advanced transfiguration," Minerva said.

"Harry has already proven that he is quite adept at your area of expertise," Albus explained. "He executed a wide scale, transfiguration field, transfiguring multiple inanimate objects into living creatures all at once. Moreover he did so without adding any additional magical constituents to the transfigured objects, thus making them instantly stable and harder to dispatch. It was all very controlled."

"Where could he possibly learn something like that?"

"I only know of a handful of people who can do it," Albus said. "And to add the Chameleon charm to the list makes him that much more of a mystery, not to mention strong wandless capabilities and Defense Against the Dark Arts skills. Clearly he's been in combat before."

"He can't be more than seventeen!"

"If he is in fact Harry James Potter, then that should exactly be his age," Sirius added. "Confound it all, Lily's going to have my head."

"Breathe not a word."

"I know, I know, it's just..."

"Yes, yes, you'll be sleeping in a cold bed when it comes out," Snape stated. "Because clearly, that's more pressing than handling sensitive information with due care."

Sirius mumbled something that sounded rather close to an explicative followed by the word 'Snivelis'.

"So what do we do then?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"We wait," Albus replied, all the while his gaze remaining on the sleeping form of Harry James Potter.

Harry awoke sometime later to the quiet words of Bono, his basilisk familiar. "Harry James Potter," it said, nudging Harry with its head. "Awaken. It is time for you to rise. Return to me."

"Mmm," he mumbled, turning over and continuing to enjoy his dream of Minnie and chocolate syrup. Bono slithered over to his ear again and began speaking, only louder this time. "Harry James Potter! Wake your sorry ass up, right this bloody instant."

"Wha-?" he managed, his eyes fluttering open and his head jerking off the pillow to stare at his familiar. "Huh?" he asked, looking around in a daze. Immediately, memories of his last few moments of consciousness gripped him, flooding his mind and putting him in a state of maximum alertness that had him keening his surroundings for signs of life, danger, weapons with which to escape, clues to his whereabouts, and all other types of information that would be useful to someone in his predicament.

"I'm hungry," Bono went on, flicking its tail back and forth at the prospect of hunting for some food. Bono was now a foot long and growing steadily as each week passed. Harry wondered how long he would be able to conceal him for he knew that the Chameleon transfiguration became exponentially more difficult the larger the object. Moreover, it was easy to move about when Bono was on his body, but eventually that would not do and people would begin noticing if he had to hold the door open for longer periods of time. He shook those thoughts from his head and returned to focusing on the problem at hand. The Order had finally caught up with him and was most likely holding him prisoner on some level. Judging from the room, he decided he was probably at Grimmauld Place, which meant that he wasn't being sent to Azkaban just yet. That was a plus, he decided. They might just be willing to hear his story. And what story is that, exactly? he asked himself. Prophesied saviour from another dimension? Somehow, he doubted that would go over very well.

Harry sat up and immediately felt his head run into Albus's braided ward. What the? he thought, lowering his head and letting the confusion clear. "It's a ward, he thought, looking up at the clear space above his head. He tried to feel where the ward should be in the hopes of circumnavigating it, but, to his dismay, he discovered that he couldn't figure it out. Maybe they've drugged you with some sort of inhibitor, he thought. Makes sense. Or maybe there's a null field somewhere that's blocking your magical sense. Don't be daft, he reprimanded yourself. Null fields are rare and complex and you just read about them not two months ago, and now you're seeing them everywhere. Besides, the null field would probably cancel out the other ward or wards.

Harry decided to speculate on it later and instead began gently crawling about, trying to feel where the ward edges were. If he couldn't do it magically, he could always do it manually. Eventually he discovered that the wards formed a cocoon around the bed, effectively imprisoning him from making it to the door, which was locked - not that that was a problem, since he could wandlessly unlock it, or possibly even use a small reductor to smash the bolt mechanism. Try some wandless magic, he thought to himself. Immediately, Harry conjured a blue bell flame and began idly tossing it back and forth between his hands. If there really is a null field, the flame will be extinguished by it, he thought, raising his hand upward until he reached about two feet off the bed. To his dismay, the flame was extinguished. Harry lit his fingers up with the lumos spell and did the same thing, with the same effect. Carefully, he maneuvered the light around and discovered that the edges of the ward were the same as the null field, which, as far as he understood it, was downright impossible. Unless there's a thin layer of one stacked on top of one another, he mused. That would be really tough to do. He looked over at Bono, who was sniffing about the edges in search of a crack he could use to go hunt food. If it's thin layers, he thought, then all I would have to do is jump through and make it to the other side. One forceful leap and inertia would carry me through to the door, at which point I could escape. Deciding that that was his best course of action, Harry planted his feet down on the bed like a sprinter in the startup position, taking care to keep his head low so that he didn't hit the Confundus ward or whatever it was that was making him dizzy.

Then, with a burst of power, he jetted forward as if being released by a powerful spring, his mind whirling with the confused thoughts and feelings brought on by the Confundus ward. Eventually, he made it to the other side, panting heavily and deciding there must have been something else there as well that was operating to keep himself at bay. It was like a gravity field, like what hit me outside the ice cream shop. Albus's work, no doubt. The three-pronged block was clever, he decided, but hardly foolproof. Clearly he was not a prisoner; they were just trying to keep him from running amuck. No doubt there was probably an alarm somewhere in there as well. They couldn't really expect those things to hold him down. Shrugging it off, he went to the door and wandlessly unlocked it, calling Bono to come to him so they could go in search of food. Frankly, he was rather hungry himself and only hoped that Mrs. Weasley would be about. He rather missed her cooking.

The halls were quiet, and, when he got to a window, he saw that it was early morning, the sun just rising on the eastern horizon. Feeling decidedly refreshed and cleaning himself up in the bathroom for good measure, he went downstairs, Bono curled around his arm for warmth and went into the kitchen, prepared to consume a lot of food.

When he walked in, he saw that he was not alone. Mrs. Weasley was sitting down having a cup of tea with Mr. Weasley, who was preparing to go to work. Both of them looked up sharply at the sound of the kitchen door opening and closing, their eyes locking on Harry as he stood stock still in the doorway. Er, maybe this wasn't the best idea, he thought, pursing his lips and wondering how best to approach this situation.

"Er, hi?" he asked tentatively, trying to be as non-threatening as possible.

Neither of them said a word, nor did they move a muscle. They simply continued staring at him as though he were the Mona Lisa.

"Hello?" he asked again, hoping for some sort of response. Briefly, his mind entertained the idea that Bono had decided to petrify them, but immediately discounted that theory. They were still pinkish-white after all. "Nice weather we're having?"

Harry took another step into the kitchen.

"Hello," Mr. Weasley said, putting down his cup and glancing at his wife. "Harry."

"Well, they got my name right, he thought, not quite sure whether that was a good thing or not. Shrugging, he decided to just go to the cupboard and get himself something to eat and pretend they didn't exist, at least for the moment. Mostly, he just needed to get his wand and take off and that meant waiting for Dumbledore. Harry started up a pot of water on the stove and rummaged around for teabag and the honey, all the while trying to ignore the feel of their eyes on his back.

He fired up another pot and began boiling two eggs he found in the magical fridge, pouring himself a cup of orange juice to boot and slicing an apple.

""Excuse me," Arthur said finally, clearing his throat and getting Harry's attention. "We don't mean to sound rude, but how exactly did you get out of your room?"

Harry stopped what he was doing and turned to face them, leaning against the counter, a glass of OJ in one hand. He considered the question carefully, realizing that they had thought their wards were foolproof, which, clearly they weren't. Deciding to feign innocence, he simply replied, "I walked out. Used a bit of wandless magic on the door to open it. Why?"

They exchanged a look before Mr. Weasley said, "Nothing. Nothing at all. I think maybe I'd best be off at work now." He stood abruptly and made a quick exit through the fireplace, all the while his wife glaring at his retreating backside, accusing him of leaving her alone with the demon Potter-child. Harry simply rolled his eyes and then summoned Molly's wand, causing her to shriek in terror as she watched it leap to his fingers.

"What are you going to do with that?" she asked, her voice quivering with terror.

Harry conjured a gaggle of mice and sent them scurrying along. He then turned to Bono and said, "Go, your breakfast is waiting."

"Thank you, Harry James Potter," he hissed, hopping off his arm and lunging with surprising agility at the first mouse, who barely managed to dodge out of its way. You won't escape me for long," it continued, prowling the kitchen and nabbing two mice with its deadly fangs before they had a chance to file through one of the many crevices.

Molly's eyes were transfixed by the horrible sight of something invisible decapitating the mice with its mouth, the mouse victims staggering about drunkenly as blood bubbled out from their necks, the sound of Harry hissing just moments ago still playing in her mind. She was barely aware that Harry was using her wand to clear off the excess mouse guts and also to stir his teabag in his cup of water to get it to steep more swiftly. Once satisfied, he tossed it back to her, the wood striking the table top and the wand rolling around until it came to rest with a click against her own cup. "Thanks," he said, taking his food and sitting across from her. "I don't think we've been properly introduced. My name is Harry James Potter. It's a pleasure to meet you." He held out his hand as a friendly gesture.

Molly spent several seconds looking at it as though it were a new life form that she was trying to catalogue. Eventually she took it, realizing that it was simply rude not to. "It's... a pleasure to meet you too," she said weakly.

Before another moment could pass, the flames in the fireplace came to life and out stepped Albus Dumbledore, as well as Tonks and Remus Lupin.

Harry curtailed his instinct to jump out of his chair and go and hug his Professor, to greet them all with the warmth and friendliness he had come to associate with each of them. Instead, he adopted a serious expression, aware that he needed to be firm when dealing with them and not show fear; not be intimidated or maneuvered. He had been through enough in his life that he had no intention of being a sucker or getting pushed around; it did, however, sting to know that these people who were so much like the people in his old life, were strangers to him in this time and place.

"Hello, Mr. Potter," Albus said, measuring Harry up with his ever-watchful gaze.

"Albus," Harry said, nodding by way of a greeting.

If the old man were surprised that Harry was bold enough to use his first name, he did not show it. The others however, seemed to be thrown off guard.

"My colleagues and I would like to have a word with you after you have completed breakfast."

"Fair enough," Harry conceded. "There are a few things that I would like as well. For starters, please return to me my wand. Immediately."

Albus merely shook his head. "I'm afraid I cannot do that, Mr. Potter."

"Call me Harry," he interjected.

"All right, Harry," Albus said, correcting himself and making a show of indulging the impudent whelp in front of him. "As I said, I cannot do that for several reasons."

"Funny, I thought it would just be the one about me being really dangerous," Harry cut in, not wanting to let him get the last word. All his life, Albus had dictated the terms, and Harry had listened. Even that night back in his office when he had told Harry about the prophecy, even when, in that same office not a year later, Harry had confronted him about Snape's role in his parents' murder. Looking back, Harry felt a sort of pity for Albus Dumbledore. Whether he had taken on all the burdens himself or whether they were foist upon him by desperate people, himself and his parents included, it did not matter. All that mattered was that he was one man - an exceptionally wise and powerful man - but just one man nevertheless, and it was a lesson Harry would never forget. It was wrong both morally and in principle to ask so much of him and to let him take on so much no matter how hard he tried.

"Well, yes," Albus agreed, seeming for the first time a little shaken. "Yes, because of the many things that have been reported regarding your actions."

Harry nodded, satisfied. "I trust you don't approve."

"I am not really in a position to judge at the moment," Albus said carefully, realizing that Harry may in fact be playing a game of verbal sparring. "but on what I do know, it does cause me great concern."

"So much so that I am here and not in a Ministry holding cell. You're trying to pump me for information before the Ministry buggers up my arrest and Lord Voldemort, who, clearly I am in league with, rescues me," Harry explained, amused, unbeknownst to him, his own eyes twinkling at the humour of the situation. He went on despite their surprised faces, "Frankly, a school Headmaster running around leading a vigilante spy group seems a great deal more distressing. Especially when you have a werewolf and a metamorphagus in your group. A metemorphagus who is an auror, no less."

"And how exactly do you know that Ms. Tonks here is a metamorphagus, Harry?" Albus asked, his voice turning more and more concerned with each word Harry spoke.

"Given that I am in league with Lord Voldemort," Harry said, lacing his words with as much venom as he could muster, "You know, really should check to see who you're firing at before you start throwing around lethal curses at schoolchildren. It's a miracle any of my friends survived that day at Hogwarts. Hell, I still don't know where two of them are, whether they're dead or not or being tortured. Did you know that all of my companions were either muggles or squibs? Hmm? You opened fire on muggles, for God's sake." Harry's eyes blazed with unbridled anger at the needless danger they had all been thrown in, not that he really blamed any of them, since it was a Ministry run affair, and, more importantly, they had damn good reason to think Lord Voldemort was in the crowd. "Tell me, do you know where my friends are?"

"Now listen here," Tonks began, fury in her own eyes. "You arrogant little twerp. You bloody well murdered my friends out there-"

"You play with fire, you get burned," Harry said. "You threw the first unforgiveable, not me," he pressed, now standing. "Christ, it was ten against one, and I was fighting for my life. If you'd only had the sense to use stunners, and not blasting hexes and other lethal curses, maybe I wouldn't have retaliated quite so hard."

"We're aurors, for Merlin's sake!"

"And I'm still a human being!" he responded hotly. "So don't go running around pretending that the world revolves around you."

Albus raised a hand to silence Tonks and then proceeded to give everyone a minute to calm down. Finally, he said, "This really isn't the purpose of our discussion here. It is not necessarily my intention to give you over to the Ministry. We have brought you here, because we would in fact like to have some answers. In particular, your parents would like to have some answers. We believe that one of your friends is with us, being cared for by your mother."

Harry's head snapped to attention, his green eyes locking with Albus's blue ones. "Minnie?" he asked tentatively.

Albus nodded. "yes, I believe that's her name.

"Is she all right?" Harry asked.

Albus nodded. "Perfectly so. Now, if I may, could we perhaps move this meeting to a more comfortable location?"

"My wand," Harry said. "I'm not going to walk away without it."

"Yes, well, we do need to talk about that as well."

"Where is it?" Harry demanded.

"I have it on me," Albus said, producing the wand in question from beneath his robes and showing it to Harry as proof. Harry extended his hand to take it, but Albus shook his head and pocketed it again. "I'm afraid not. Like I said, there are a few questions about the wand that need answering, before I can return it to you. In addition, there is more about you I would like to know before I arm you again."

Harry narrowed his eyes. Don't let them push you, he told himself. You can't guarantee what they'll do after they hear your story, however much of it you decide to feed to them, and you need it. Finally he said, "What makes you think I won't simply kill you outright?" Harry asked, knowing full well that none of them believed it to be a credible threat.

Mrs. Weasley looked positively pained, while Tonks glared and Remus seemed amused. Albus continued to wear his poker face, as he said, "If you truly had such power, and you had the absence of conscience to employ it against us, then you would certainly have done so already."

"True," Harry conceded. "But if I have such power, and I have demonstrated restraint not to employ it against you, would you return me my wand immediately?"

Albus seemed to consider the question carefully, most likely searching for whatever power Harry could possibly possess that would allow him to best all four armed adults while he himself had no wand at his disposal. "I understand you can do wandless magic, Harry," Albus said tentatively, "but it still won't be enough to overcome all of us."

Harry quirked an eyebrow. "You didn't exactly answer my question, Albus."

"No, I didn't," he admitted. "so be it. If you can demonstrate that you could kill us all before we could disarm you - if you could prove that you could retrieve your wand on the condition that you exercised unconscionable acts, then I will return your wand immediately, on the condition that you do not attempt to flee without permission or that you do not turn the wand on us to bind us, cause us pain, kill or do anything else that we would consider an act of antagonism."

"Done," Harry said, nodding. "I've never known you to lie. Tell half-truths, omit information, mislead, yes, but lie. Never."

Harry turned to Bono, who had returned and now sat comfortably on his arm and hissed, "Close your eyes."

"Why?"

"Come on, just do it," Harry said.

Issuing what sounded like a long, suffering sigh, Bono acquiesced. Harry, ignoring the surprised gasps coming from all four adults, waved his hand over his arm, clearly saying so that there was no question as to which spell he was using, "Transfiguratus al fine." Immediately, the Chameleon Transfiguration was lifted, exposing his basilisk familiar for all four adults to see. Harry fixed his gaze on the Headmaster and said in a hard voice. "I trust you recognize just what type of creature is currently sitting on my arm."

all that met his pronouncement was a stunned silence, all four of them transfixed by the sight of the baby basilisk curled comfortably on Harry's arm, many of them their mouths working in silent comprehension, dawning horror creeping over their expressions like the edges of twilight between day and night. All of them except Albus flinched suddenly, turning away as if just realizing how close they truly were to death at that moment.

"Harry," Albus said, his eyes remaining on the basilisk, as if trying to look to see where the joke was.

Harry took their moment of distraction to summon his wand wordlessly from Dumbledore's pocket, the warmth of it stealing over his fingers and running through his body, connecting to his magical core, singing to him, telling him he was a wizard. "I think we'd better take this to the other room now," Harry said softly. "As you've already pointed out, we have much to discuss." Harry then turned away and led the four stunned Order members to the drawing room, where he took a seat at one of the couches and proceeded to discuss his tale.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

Hand in the Cookie Jar

It had been a quiet couple of months for Marv and Kittie. From Hogwarts, they had fled to Hogsmeade, where they snagged some floo powder and, after some serious arguing when Marv tried to get Kittie to walk into what she would later describe as a "towering inferno", made it to the Leaky Cauldron, where they escaped into muggle London, realizing only too late that the anti-muggle wards would prevent them from returning without assistance.

"Okay, now walk into the fire," Marv said, still trying to catch his breath and carelessly tossing a handful of floo powder into the orange flames, turning them green.

"What?" Kittie wheezed, clutching her sides.

"The flames!" he said, already feeling the store owner coming to them, protesting their use of his floo without permission. "Dammit go!"

"I don't think so!" she countered, trying to stare beadily at him. "You first, smart guy."

"NOW, KITTIE!" he exclaimed.

"It's a bloody fire!"

"It's bloody magic!" he said, realizing they were on the cusp of capture and, in a dramatic fit of aggression, grabbed her bodily by the waist, picked her up so that she shrieked in surprise, involuntarily kneeing him in the groin as he charged the fireplace, the footfalls of his pursuers now audible over the crackle of flames and the pain throbbing through his body from his pelvis. "Leaky Cauldron!" he shouted, not caring that all the patrons at Madam Puddyfoot's heard his destination.

"AAAAAHHHHHH!" Kittie screamed, feeling the heat of the flames tickle her legs and expecting the worst.

And then they were gone.

Not a day later, they had found themselves in a quiet, suburban muggle neighbourhood, aiming a lighter in the shape of a pistol at some hapless single mother with two infant children balling their eyes out in the background, desperately half-begging, half-threatening to use the lavatory. Having stocked up with a supply of food and basic toiletries, they took off, maneuvering their way to a seedier part of town where they found an abandoned warehouse to hole up in to avoid the rain and some of the rougher elements.

"Just like old days," Marv said shakily, the cold of night descending over them, he using his stolen lighter to start a small fire out of dirty blankets and cardboard debris.

"Yeah," she said, scuttling closer to him to keep the cold out.

They lapsed into silence, enjoying the momentary warmth, the crackle of the fire, their warm bodies pressed up against one another.

"We're quite a pair, aren't we?" Kittie asked, laughing nervously in the dark.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Marv replied, turning to face her, marvelling at the softness in her eyes, the light of reflected fire in them.

"Me neither," she agreed, snuggling that much closer. Marv wrapped both his arms around her torso, pulling her tight, inviting her in, rubbing her backside to stave off the cold.

""Should have asked for a blanket," she murmured softly, the day taking its toll, she already falling asleep.

"Yeah," he agreed quietly, mentally preparing himself for the long night ahead. While Kittie fell asleep against him, Marv had no such luxury. He merely sat up, his back erect, his eyes staring off into the distance, not seeing anything, his ears catching the sounds of traffic outside, the trickle of insects, searching for any sounds of oncoming threats. We're defenseless, he thought, trying to figure out some way of protecting himself and the woman he loved, though by three in the morning, his mind effectively shut down, driving him into unconsciousness.

October 1st.

"Okay, now try and focus on your breathing and keep it steady," Marv was saying, keeping a close watch on Kittie's facial expressions to make sure that she wasn't cheating by thinking of other things. After several more breaths, he asked, "Now, tell me what you see."

"It's dark," she responded instantly, reaching out her hands as if to feel the inky blackness that shrouded her mind's eye.

"What else?"

Kittie opened her mouth to speak but then hesitated. Shortly, she said, "I see you."

"That's good," Marv said comfortingly. "Tell me how old I am."

"You're young. Maybe six or seven."

"And what am I doing?" he asked, continuing to probe.

"You're drawing lines in the snow. I think you're drawing people; little stick people, a big one and a little one and a medium sized one. Maybe they're a family."

"Anything else?" Marv asked.

"You're decapitating one of them," she replied.

"Oh," he said, wrinkling his nose. "Yeah, I remember that."

Marv's last words seemed to break her concentration, for she slumped forward and let out a long breath, opening her eyes and looking at Marv. "I'm sorry," she said finally, casting her gaze downwards.

"Why?" he responded quizzically.

"I feel so stupid, like I should be getting this, or being a lot further along or something."

"Nonsense, Kittie." Marv crossed the distance between them and held her. "It's me who should be apologizing. I probably never should have asked you to do this. Besides, you're doing brilliantly. Mastering legilimancy and occlumancy is no easy feat, whether you're gifted at it or not."

"I'm glad to be doing this," she said, latching onto his apology. "You needn't be sorry. It's quite the opposite, since you're helping me to deal with it. I can walk into a crowded room and not have my thoughts flooded by those of others. I can block them out now, that's more of a gift than anything."

Marv nodded, accepting her words at face value.

"Let's try it again."

"We've spent plenty of time this morning on developing your center. I think we should move onto developing your forward thrust."

Kittie immediately wrinkled her nose at the suggestion, well aware that Marv was the only available victim for this particular use of legilimancy. Actually, he was the only victim for all her training, but this one was particularly vicious and made her rather uneasy.

"Hit me," Marv commanded, preparing a pile of pillows behind him for when he collapsed in agony.

"I don't want to."

"Don't hold back. You know I can tell." Marv positioned himself so that he was as comfortable as possible and then proceeded to look directly into her eyes. So powerful was she that eye contact wasn't necessary at all. It just happened that he liked looking at her. Kittie took a deep breath and then, envisioning her center, pulled it back and sent it forward at high velocity, cutting deeply into the memories and thoughts that were spilling from Marv's direction. Instead of focusing on deriving content from his mind, she instead proceeded to cut a hole in his mind, creating a barren space and disorganizing all the thoughts that were threatening to intrude, many of them being redirected to feelings of panic, his mind trying to defend itself from the onslaught. After what seemed like an eternity, Kittie relented, leaning back and rubbing at her temples before crawling over to Marv, who was lying on the pillows, his whole body trembling as though he were suffering from a seizure.

That's it, she told herself. I'm not doing this to you again. We can find some other guinea pig.

Kittie didn't even bother trying to talk to him, knowing he was lost in his own thoughts, jumbled as they were, knowing that it was worse this time than it was the last, and knowing that it would take that much longer for him to come out of his stupor. All she could do was crawl next to him and hold him, rocking him gently back and forth and crooning to him as though he were a lost puppy, trying to impress upon his mind a sense of warmth and comfort and love.

Lord Voldemort liked having meticulous plans. Indeed, he had several of them, including garnering sympathy from the pureblooded elite, maneuvering the leaders of the magical community to undermine lynchpins in the protection of muggles, and, by extension muggle-borns. In truth, he didn't really mind muggle-borns at all. He himself was a half-blood and not blind to that fact. He rather respected them, having to survive in the presence of muggles for their formative years and would have been happy to recruit them if it were not for a few basic problems. First, they tended to be fond of the muggle world, often having positive experiences, unlike his own. They also tended to be poorer and less able to carry out some of his more Slytherin plans. Thirdly, the pureblooded elite loathed them, regarding them as inferior for the sole purpose of maintaining their own power base, regardless of whatever in-breeding might result from their closed door policy.

That's why a certain resurrected half-blood named Harry James Potter was giving him such trouble. On four separate occasions he tried to have the irritating child brought in for questioning, and on all four occasions his soldiers were murdered by said child. The kid was downright brutal, and, frankly, rather impressive, and Lord Voldemort wanted him. Or at least, he wanted to find out more about him. He could still remember that day back in 1981, Halloween Night, when he stormed Godric's Hollow, blowing apart James's arm with a reductor curse and then leaving him for dead as he hunted down Lily and the boy in the back gardens. Supposedly, the boy had some sort of supernatural power that was going to annihilate him, and he really couldn't have that. He had gone right up to her and told her to step aside, which she clearly wasn't going to do. That was fine by him. What the hell did he care with one less muggle-born; certainly it would make Lucius happy to see the world rid of her.

"Avada kedavra," he had said, discharging the killing curse. Instead of hitting Lily, however, the stupid child had gotten in the way and taken the curse, effectively killing him. It all seemed rather easy, truth be told. Some prophesied saviour he turned out to be.

Lord Voldemort was just ready to disapparate when Lily pulled out a muggle gun - a nine millimeter, he would eventually realize, and poured bullet after bullet into his chest. Normally, he wouldn't have cared, having insulated his body from all but the most violent of attacks, but the stupid bitch had charmed them to explode like grenades, effectively shredding his body with the force of the shrapnel exiting from all sides. A combination of an engorgement charm and a delayed explosion hex had basically disintegrated his body, leaving only a shocked head behind - a head with a giant hunk of twisted, smoking metal sticking out the crown. Bloody thing was still locked up in the Department of Mysteries, apparently. It was rather something of a joke, really. The mudblood had been terrified of telling the world she had used a muggle device to kill Lord Voldemort, fearing the wizarding backlash from all the conservative citizens who abhorred all things muggle, and had concocted some ludicrous story about love and her son's sacrifice protecting her. What a load of rubbish. Still, he wasn't terribly inclined to disabuse the world of that notion, mostly because he couldn't exactly schedule an interview with a Prophet reporter and because her story added a bit more mystique to his character.

Lord Voldemort sighed. And now the kid was back. The whole thing made him want to tear his hair out, quite frankly. It wasn't as if Harry James Potter had spent his youth uncovering and developing the arithmantic components for the horcruxes. Why the hell did he get a free pass to survive death? Was he truly immortal? Where'd he go for the last fifteen years?

And so, that was why Lord Voldemort departed his hideout to go see to the kid personally, no longer prepared to trust in his underlings. After all, if you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself.

October 1st.

On the same day that Marv spent his last day being a guinea pig for Kittie's training as a master legilimans, Harry was sitting around Grimmauld Place eating blueberry muffins, spearing them vindictively with a fork until they turned to mush on his plate. Dumbledore and the old gang had decided that it would be best for him to remain hidden from the wizarding world for awhile, though they failed to specify just what exactly the term 'a while' meant. It was like fifth year all over again. Phooey.

Harry had taken to playing mind games with his minders. Molly Weasley was the easiest to bait, for all it took was a bit of Parseltongue and she would begin gibbering like a St. Mungo's mental patient. Hell, he didn't even need to speak Parseltongue, specifically. Just some cheesy hissing sounds would send her into fits of hysterics, often times including uncontrollable fits of convulsions. Tonks was another easy target, because of her predisposition for hating Harry, since he apparently killed some auror playboy she had been fawning after.

Remus entered the kitchen, joining Harry at the table, snagging his own blueberry muffin in the process. It felt decidedly strange being near his former professor and parents' friend. Harry had never been terribly close to the man, despite all he did for him during his third year. Any feelings he had were proxies for his feelings for his own parents and for Sirius. As such, Harry found he had very little to say to the Marauder.

""We've found a number of the horcruxes," Remus said, casually extricating blueberries with his wand and popping them into his mouth, leaving the bread mostly untouched. "Just as you had instructed."

Harry remained silent, training his focus on his food and making little swirling patterns with his fork, wandlessly levitating bits and pieces here and there to readjust them.

Remus went on as if Harry cared. "You-Know-Who doesn't have a snake in this world, so we're not really clear where the other one is."

"You've got the Huffelpuff cups?" Harry asked.

"That, the ring, the locket and the book.

"How'd you manage the book?" Harry asked.

"Went in to Malfoy Manor on a raid and extracted it."

Harry nodded, satisfied.

"You said you knew of one more."

"And I'm still not going to tell you, Remus."

"Can't blame a fellow for trying, can you Harry?"

"No, I suppose I can't. A marauder never gives up, after all."

They lapsed into silence, Harry losing himself to his own thoughts. Bono slithered around the table, clearly bored. "Harry," it hissed, drawing his attention.

"Yes, Bono?" he responded, curious as to what his familiar wanted.

"My eyes are wrong."

"What's the matter with them?" he asked, now aware that Remus was watching the pair with keen interest. Peripherally, he noticed that Molly had entered the kitchen and had promptly left upon seeing the basilisk.

"They are not my eyes."

"Ah, yes, you're right, Bono. They are indeed not your own eyes. I have transfigured them. I did it on the very first day I met you."

"Why have you done this to me?" it asked, its voice tinged with curiosity.

Harry sighed. He wasn't sure what he was going to do if the little creature wanted its own eyes back. Finally, he said, "Because it is known that a basilisk's mere gaze is lethal to all living creatures. If I permit you to have your own eyes, I and all my friends would quickly find ourselves dead. That didn't really seem like an option, quite frankly."

"I see," responded Bono, considering the problem. After a time, Harry waiting to see if the snake would accept this response, it finally said, "Harry, I want my eyes back."

Harry nodded. "I understand, Bono. But you know that means that I have to let you go, don't you?"

Bono considered this for awhile and then said, "I don't want you to let me go."

Harry pursed his lips in contemplation, wondering if the snake were being obtuse or if it were simply toying with him. "What do you propose we do, then?" Harry asked.

"Return me my eyes, Harry."

"But Bono-"

"Return them to me," Bono cut in. "I promise it won't be lethal."

Harry hesitated, leaning back in his chair and trying to keen an answer from the snake's eyes. Finally, he turned to Remus and said, "Get out."

Remus, who was not expecting this, blinked. "Excuse me?" he asked, surprised at the rudeness that Harry was displaying.

"I need to run an experiment with my familiar, and it may have lethal consequences. You'd best stay away," Harry said. "Of course, you may remain, but it may not be good for your health."

Remus nodded and stood, frowning as he contemplated Harry's words. Finally, he said, "You know, I always thought you'd grow up to be a nice person." With that, he left the room, Harry shrugging off his words with little difficulty.

"All right, Bono, Harry said, drawing his wand. "I pray you know what you're doing."

Bono nodded. "Trust me, Harry, as I have trusted you."

Harry proceeded to return Bono's eyes to him, the irises changing from brown to yellow. Harry looked down at his familiar and promptly screamed, clutching his head and falling out of his chair, squeezing his eyes shut and whimpering on the floor. Distantly, he heard Remus calling from beyond the doorway, asking if he were all right. Eventually, he managed to call out in a strangled voice. "Peachy. Don't come in."

"Harry?" Bono asked.

"Yeah," he croaked. "What is it."

"You're still alive."

"No shit." Harry felt a sudden urge to strangle the damn thing. I'm alive, he thought grimly. Yeah, big fucking woohoo. It's like I've got a party in my head and everyone's bloody invited.

"Harry?" Bono asked.

"Yeah, Bono?"

"Why are you on the floor?"

Harry decided not to dignify that with a response and instead focused on dragging himself to his feet and climbing back into his chair, intent on keeping his gaze averted from Bono's. Once he was righted and the pain had subsided, he managed to say, "I think we need to work on that particular talent of yours." Having a good idea just what talent Bono was using to inflict pain and death on his victims, Harry conjured a pair of glasses, made them feather-light, placed the chameleon transfiguration on them, affixed an impervious charm to them for good measure and then affixed them to Bono's eyes, adding a null field to them to null whatever magical energy the creature was discharging.

When Harry looked at the creature, he smiled and said in a relaxed, warm tone, "Better. Now we'll just have to work on getting you to develop your power so that you're not causing death and pain wherever you look."

Remus poked his head in through the doorway and raised an eyebrow questioningly, to which Harry merely shrugged, before going back to the merciless slaughter of his muffin.

Marv was awoken abruptly sometime in the middle of the night, the sounds of people coming nearer, things being moved about, talking, laughing, thudding and banging. Searching the darkness for the source of the intrusion, Marv saw lights approaching from the back entrance of the abandoned warehouse they had been squatting in for the last month or so. "Damn," he muttered under his breath, taking a moment to shake the fatigue from his limbs and then climbing into a sitting position. "Kittie," he whispered, shaking her to rouse her from her slumber. "Kittie, wake up."

"Mmph," she mumbled, turning over and absently swatting at his hand.

"Kittie, wake up," he said again, this time more forcefully, applying greater pressure as he shook her.

"Huh?" she said suddenly, her head snapping up, her eyes suddenly alert. "What?" she asked to the darkness.

"People are coming," Marv said. We need to clear out."

"It took a moment for Marv's words to sink into her sleep-addled brain, but once it did, she let out a long moan of sorrow and irritation, dragging herself to her knees and shaking the fatigue from her muscles much like Marv himself had done just a minute earlier. Now, she too could see the forms of people chatting about, lights casting ghostly glows about their faces as they laughed and shouted and set up boxes and other strange equipment. "What the hell?" she asked softly.

"Ravers," Marv said, keeping his gaze fixed on the several people at the far end of the hall. "Must be about two in the morning if they're coming by. Drunk and junked up on E and setting up for their friends."

"Ravers?" Kittie asked, not understanding the term.

Marv shook his head as if shrugging off a long-forgotten memory. "I'm surprised they're still around, quite frankly. Figured they would've died with the eighties."

"What are they?" Kittie too, took to watching them.

"Just kids out to have some fun."

"Oh."

After a moment, more people started to filter through the doors, and Marv and Kittie had to grab their things and retreat further into the shadows to remain hidden.

"We should probably take off," Kittie said dubiously, unsure of what exactly the correct course of action would be.

Marv shook his head. "It's not that easy. We're in a pretty bad part of town and it's a Saturday night. Pubs are letting out and there's a lot of not so nice people around."

"And I'm a girl," she finished.

"I'm hardly in a position to protect you."

Kittie nodded, turning to face Marv in the dark, straining to see his features, occluding her mind to keep from reading his thoughts. "You know," she said. "I've dealt with guys on the street before. I can sense them from quite aways if I wanted to."

"It's also miserably cold out, and there's no telling where we'll find shelter next. Unless you're prepared to take another family hostage."

Kittie scowled. While Marv had been perfectly comfortable ransacking some middle-aged chain smoker with two kids in a public housing district, she was not. The whole experience had made her distinctly uncomfortable.

As if reading her thoughts, he said. "We might even have to take a chance with some of your new skills if-"

"No!" she whispered intensely, looking almost fearful.

Marv nodded, confirming to himself that they really only had that option in extreme circumstances. For whatever reason, Kittie was not comfortable ravaging someone's mind as a means of incapacitating them, and Marv was not particularly inclined to argue with her. It seemed, all in all, rather personal.

"What if we stay here?" she asked uncertainly.

"We'll have to keep to the shadows and keep as low a profile as possible. We'll probably be seen here and there, but we may be able to find a nice corner where nobody'll bother us. You see, they're all here illegally anyway, so it's not like they're going to get all hot and bothered just because a couple of transients are mucking about. So long as we don't get in their way, we should be fine. Oh, and it's going to get real noisy, as well,."

Just then, as if on cue, the people on the other side cheered as drinks were passed around and a large stereo system came to life, the tell-tale boom of the bass causing a reverberation through the stone floor.

"Oh!" Kittie said, surprised and intrigued. "I didn't know you could get things that loud!"

"Afraid so," Marv said. "Come on." The pair hefted their belongings and, once enough people had come inside and the music had flared to life, the crazy multi-coloured movements of strobe lights casting spots of colours all over the place, they made their way stealthily to one of the unused office rooms, which, hopefully would be overlooked by the resident ravers.

"You comfortable?" Marv asked, the walls of the small room helping to blot out the sounds of music and the strange words of the DJ, who seemed to be talking in code. Marv had tucked Kittie into an especially dark space under the body of a large desk that had been left there.

"Yeah," she whispered, scooting over to one side to make room for him to lie down next to her, both of them working together to find a comfortable arrangement of limbs and backs and heads, after which point they lay silently together, trying to acclimatize to the reverb and the music and the smells of human bodies late in the night.

"Marv?" Kittie whispered. "You still there?"

"Still here," he whispered back.

Kittie remained silent for a moment, Marv wondering if she were just checking to see if he had still been awake. Then, out of the blue, her voice quiet yet still cutting through the background cacophony, she said, "Thank you."

It was a phrase that left Marv baffled, for, try as he might, he couldn't figure out just what exactly she was thanking him for, so, seeking to resolve the ambiguity, he asked, "What for?"

"For being here. For being with me."

Ah, he thought, understanding. "You needn't thank me, Kittie. It is I who am honoured to be here." He then took her cold, clammy hands in his and began to rub them with his fingers, trying to breathe warmth back into them. "You mean so much to me, Kittie. I don't know what I would do with myself if I didn't have you. I wouldn't trade spots with anybody in the world. I wouldn't leave you for a million galleons, or fame or power. I wouldn't leave you for anything."

They lapsed into silence after that, both of them trying to rest, content to live inside their own heads.

Some time later, both of them having failed to fall asleep amidst the din of music, Marv shushed Kittie by raising one finger to her lips. Kittie fell silent, her body coiling with anticipation as she saw Marv look intently forward, his head cocked as if all his senses were searching the environment. Then, before she could hear the footsteps approach, she picked up thoughts faintly flitting about somewhere in the distance; thoughts that were getting closer. Thoughts full of... lust.

Before they knew it, somebody was being pushed on top of the desk, pens and paper clips and even a stapler raining down in front of their very eyes, crashing to a halt on the floor.

"Oh, do that again," came a distinctly female voice, followed immediately by a wet, sucking sound and heavy breathing, punctuated by soft feminine moans.

Marv winced, cupping his head in his hands while Kittie stuffed her fist into her mouth to keep from giggling. Of all the places, he silently lamented, of all the stupid places... Oh, how badly he wanted to tell them to get a broom closet, his Slytherin side mentally cataloguing the list of sounds they were making and associating the various movements, just in case it would prove useful later on.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Kittie's expression of amusement had morphed into one of concern, her smile having turned into a frown. Taking care to be silent as he shifted over and saying very quietly in her ear. "What is it?"

Kittie, in turn, cupped her hands over his ear and whispered back, "She doesn't want to go any further, and he's been very accommodating."

"And that's a bad thing?" Marv asked.

Kittie shook her head. "It's a ruse. He's giving serious thought to taking her by force. Right now. He figures he can get away with it, because she's young, a little drunk, doesn't live around here, it's loud, no one'll be able to tell, even if they notice the two of them."

"Rob!" the girl exclaimed from above. "Stop that!"

Rob, apparently, did not see fit to reply with words, instead pressing his lips to hers and pinning her down in a position that kept her from struggling too hard.

"She's really pissed off," Kittie whispered.

"Should we help?" Marv asked.

Kittie shook her head. "Not yet. She's waiting for him to lift up his right arm, which she figures he'll do if he expects to get her pants off. And then she's going to... curse him?" Kittie finished that last part uncertainly, turning to face Marv's eyes with a questioning look. "What the hell good is cursing him going to do?"

But before Marv could say anything, they heard the girl say in a clear voice, "Stupefy," and the body of Rob came crashing down in front of them, his back landing awkwardly on top of the stapler. Great, Marv thought. We're caught for sure.

"Hey what's going on?" another girl entered the room. "And where's Rob?"

"On the floor," said the first girl.

"What's he doing down there?"

"Taking a nap. Bloody muggles got no clue how to court a girl."

"Mine's not so bad. Maybe you're just the type to attract losers."

"Gee, thanks."

"Gee, you're welcome."

"Given that you never get to first base with yours, it's hardly a surprise."

"What can I say? I'm here, believe it or not, to actually dance."

The first girl laughed. "Right, I forgot. You actually consider what they do out there dancing."

Kittie and Marv figured it was a recurring conversation because the second girl brushed the criticism off easily.

"Have you even had a drink tonight, Sylvie?"

The second girl, who was apparently named Sylvie, shrugged.

"I'll take that as a no. Come on, you're the one who's seriously in need of a stress reliever, with resurrected psychopathic brothers and paranoid parents and all the rest of it."

"Ugh, tell me about it. My mom sees You-Know-Who around every corner. I think I'm getting brain cancer from living in house more fortified than Azkaban."

The first girl laughed and said, "Come on, let's go fix you up with a tab. My treat."

Sylvie nodded, asking as they headed out. "You just gonna leave the muggle in there?"

"For awhile at least," came the fading response. "Remind me to get him later."

Kittie turned a questioning eye to Marv, silently asking, What the hell was that?

Marv mentally projected the image of one word in big, bold letters: WITCHES.

Comprehension dawned on Kittie's features. "I see," she whispered.

Marv then redirected her attention to their current predicament by pointing at the muggle who lay unconscious at their feet, drool slowly spilling out of the corner of his mouth, his face slack as though he were resting incredibly peacefully. "We need to get out of here, before somebody collects him."

Kittie nodded, a dozen questions on the tip of her lip. "Will he awaken on his own?"

Marv shook his head. "Not if he's a muggle. Only magic can undo the spell. That or extreme physical trauma. Often a wizard or witch's own magic will slowly wear away the curse, but if you don't have any magic to begin with, you're case is hopeless."

"And if people come looking for him," Kittie realized.

"They'll think we did it to him, and then we'll be in deep trouble."

"Unless it's those girls, in which case we're muggles and they'll either report us, which would get them in a lot of trouble, or they would attempt to obliviate us themselves. And that would be seriously bad, mainly because they probably won't know what they're doing, and we could come out of it vegetables."

"That's horrible!" she exclaimed. "They would do that?"

"Most wizards and witches don't care much about muggles. There's billions of them, as far as the average magical person is concerned, so offing one or two just seems so much less of a deal." And with that, Marv took to scrambling out of their cubby hole and rolling rapist Rob out of the way in order to clear the way for their exit. He stretched his back, which had grown cramped and extended a hand out to Kittie, who took it greedily as she dragged herself and her dirty blanket from the niche.

However, before they could make it to the door, the lights flickered to life, though not from any electrical source. No, the overhead fluorescent bulbs were hit with an illumination charm, just as Marv and Kittie were folding up their meager possessions, Sylvie and her friend, Amber, wandering back into the office, each of them holding drinks. Both of them stopped dead in their tracks, their smiles sliding off their faces as they took in the two bedraggled strangers. "Who the hell are you?" Amber asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

"We're homeless bums," Marv said swiftly, cutting off Kittie before she tried to lie, Marv knowing there was no point with the way they looked and smelled. "And we were just on our way out of here." Marv took Kittie's hand and gently guided her toward the door.

"Stop," Amber said, raising her glass at them in a pointing gesture. "How much did you see?"

Marv gave Kittie a dopey looking glance, as he feigned ignorance. He turned back to Amber and said, "Don't know what you're talking about."

"The bloke," Amber said, waving her glass at the incapacitated teen on the floor at the other side of the room.

"We'd just been sleeping," Marv said, shrugging. "Heard a thump, woke up and figured we'd best depart." Marv made another move for the exit, but this time, Amber drew her wand, Marv remaining careful not to show signs of recognition. He had no clue who these girls were. They could just be muggle-borns out for a good time, or they could be purebloods, in which case they would do just about anything to cover their tracks, even assault other wizards - especially assaulting other wizards.

"Er, Amber," Sylvia said tentatively. "Do we really need to do that?"

"Do what?" Marv asked impatiently, giving only the barest of quizzical glances at the seemingly peculiar stick. The sound of the DJ could be heard asking if people wanted more, to which many cheered enthusiastically.

"Do you really want your parents finding out about this?" Amber asked, whirling around.

"They're just muggles," Sylvia responded in as quiet a tone as she could muster. "What could they do?"

"Nothing, if I hadn't cast a stunner," Amber replied through clenched teeth, her wand and eyes carefully trained on Marv in search of the slightest movement. "You know my cloaker isn't that good."

A cloaker, Marv mused. Must be a rich kid to have one of those. Definitely a pureblood.

"I suppose," Sylvia said hesitantly. "Listen, why don't you guys just split and, like, not return here anytime soon."

"Done," Kittie said, trying to sound as agreeable as possible, looking directly into Sylvia's eyes. Kittie then, in a bold move, lowered her eyes and shook her head, communicating to Marv that it was no use. They weren't going to let them go. Amber was taking no chances; not that Marv needed legilimancy to know that. He could feel the aristocracy coming off her in waves; while she seemed to tolerate muggles, she clearly thought little of them as people.

You're in deep, deep shit, he told himself, his mind scrambling for a good way to retaliate from a dodged curse. He had no doubt he could maneuver out of the way of the first one, whatever it was, and possibly the second or even the third, but he couldn't think for the life of him how he was going to disarm Amber, let alone Sylvia, who was reluctantly drawing her wand.

"I'm sorry," Sylvia seemed to say, taking a step back and forming a standard guard position. Christ, Marv thought. One of them must have an auror for parents. Worse yet, they looked as though they were executing the standard maneuver with practiced ease, like they'd taken down people before.

"What are you going to do to us?" Kittie asked in a strained voice.

"It doesn't really concern you," Amber said absently. "In a moment, you won't remember a thing anyway. It'll be all right then."

"I see," Kittie said, her voice full of sorrow. "Then I'm sorry to have to do this."

Amber either didn't hear the warning, regretful tone in Kittie's voice, or she chose to ignore it, because at that moment she raised her wand in the standard spellcasting position and began to incant, "Obliv-" However, Amber cut off in mid-speech, her wand clattering to the floor as she clutched at her forehead. She screamed in pain and took a staggering step backwards before collapsing to the ground, first falling to her knees, her eyes lolling about in her head. She coughed up mucus which dribbled out of her mouth, blood spilling down her nose as she pitched forward, her hands flattening out against the carpet to keep herself up.

"What the hell are you doing to her!" Sylvia shouted, appalled as she watched her friend wither away underneath the phenomenal onslaught of Kittie's wrath.

"Help," Amber rasped before her arms gave out and she collapsed face first into the carpet, which was soaked through with her own spit and blood.

"Fucking purebloods," Marv muttered irritably, walking over and snatching Amber's wand off the ground with expert ease.

"Sylvie, isn't it?" Marv asked, twirling the nine inch beech wood wand between his fingers.

"Who - who are you?" she asked, her wand now trembling.

"I'm curious as to what the Ministry would say about young little upstart witches cursing unsuspecting muggles. With Ministry regulated spells, no less."

"But - but you're," Sylvia's eyes narrowed as she comprehended Marv's words. With a little more bravado, she said, "You're not muggles though."

Marv smiled fully. It was a cold, dangerous smile. "Amn't I? Tell me, Sylvie, do you know the difference between intent and effect? All it matters to the Ministry is that you intended to curse muggles."

"It wasn't a curse!" she exclaimed.

"A memory charm by an unlicensed witch or wizard counts as a curse."

"You don't know who I am," she said shakily, looking between Marv and Kittie.

Marv merely glanced at Kittie who shrugged as if to say, "Why not?" and then, turning to Sylvie said, "You're Sylvia Black. Age fifteen. Huffelpuff. Hogwarts. Daughter of Sirius Orion Black and Lily Evans-" Kittie stopped in mid-sentence, her eyes widening. Just as images accompanied each of the words and thoughts that she took from Sylvia's mind, so did an image accompany the name of the girl's mother. A green-eyed woman with the most intense red hair, soft lips, medium height, and, instantly, she knew exactly who Lily Evans Potter was, memories of Harry sometimes talking about her coming to the forefront of her mind. Without realizing it, she said in a breathless voice, "Harry."

Marv snapped his head to the side and stared keenly, searchingly at Kittie. "What?" he asked finally, already fearing the answer.

Sylvia looked downright terrified. "How do you-?"

"She's Harry's sister. Her mother's Lily Potter."

Marv took a deep breath and expressed the situation in the only way he knew how. "Bloody hell."

Kittie nodded mutely.

Marv, realizing that he needed to take control of the situation, and also that an opportunity presented itself for him to get valuable information, turned to the girl and spoke in his most authoritative voice, his body adopting the commanding presence that Tom Marvolo Riddle developed as he ascended to Lordship. "Tell me everything you know about Harry."

Sylvia hardly even seemed to hear his words. She looked frightened more than anything else, clearly terrified at the prospect of suffering the same fate as her friend, or, possibly, suffering some other fate when her parents found out. She's so far out of her league, Marv mused, not even realizing that she's standing in front of a couple of destitute muggles. If she had half a brain, she would realize that there was no way we would have holed ourselves up in some muggle dump if we could perform magic.

"Are you going to hurt me?" she asked in a small voice, her posture, her words, the tone in her voice very much telling a story about a lost girl.

Before Kittie could show sympathy, however, Marv said in a firm voice. "I think it would be better for you if you laid down your wand." The command was more of a test than anything. To lay down one's wand was a sign of complete submission; moreover, it would indicate whether she could actually understand what they were saying. The last thing they needed was for her to cry herself into a state of shock.

Sylvia complied, and Marv silently breathed a sigh of relief. They were going to survive this unscathed after all, and, to top it off, they were going to secure valuable information.

"Now, tell me everything you know about Harry," Marv said.

"Why?" Sylvia replied instantly, seeming to be genuinely curious. Marv could also detect a hint of defensiveness. So she's not a sap after all, he thought. "You've met him," Marv observed, knowing that she would only be concerned about Harry if she had had personal contact with him. Seldom did anyone ever show undue loyalty to a faceless figure.

Relenting, Sylvia nodded. She then asked. "Is Amber going to be all right?"

Marv glanced at Kittie, who nodded. "She'll wake up with a headache in a couple of hours. I promise."

"All right," Sylvia said, having no choice but to believe them. "Ask away, and I'll tell you what I know."

"Like I said," Marv said, "Tell me everything about Harry."

"I don't know much," she said, appearing sincere. In all honesty, Marv cared little for what she actually said, since Kittie would just pick the thoughts out of her head anyway, but it would just make Kittie's job easier if Sylvia were made to think about him. She began, "He's accused of killing a bunch of aurors at Hogwarts and is supposedly in the service of You-Know-Who. He's also apparently cast the Imperius Curse on a bunch of people in Diagon Alley, and it's suspected that he did so in muggle London as well. That's all I know."

Marv glanced at Kittie who nodded. "That's the state of things. She's left out the fact that Harry visited the Potter home, where he had a run in with her-" Kittie made a gesture at Sylvia before continuing. "She threatened him and he expertly incapacitated her and they had a chat."

"Does she know where he took off to?"

Kittie shook her head.

"Why are you looking for him?" Sylvia asked.

"Was a girl with him?" Marv countered, not bothering to answer Sylvia's question.

Sylvia hesitated, but it did not matter, for Kittie had already extracted the information. "Yes, she is. They have Minnie. She's been living with her while they figure out what to do with her. Sylvia, apparently, is most dissatisfied with the situation, because she's feeling intruded upon. Also, Harry's arrival has caused Lily and Sirius to upgrade their protections and as such, she has been functionally grounded. She's currently AWOL."

"Hey!" Sylvia exclaimed indignantly, stamping her foot. "Get the hell out of my head!"

"Funny coming from an arrogant whelp that just moments ago was about to obliviate us," Marv said wryly.

"Yeah, well, it wouldn't have hurt or nothing!" she rebuked.

Marv just shook his head, appalled at the stupidity of the girl. "Have you ever cast the memory charm before?"

"No but Amber-"

"Have you ever stuck around to see its effects?" Marv persisted.

"Well, no, but-"

"So you have no clue whether your little friend here was just frying the minds of muggles at will, with no regard for their well being?"

Sylvia did not respond, trying to reconcile all she knew of her friend with Marv's stinging words.

Marv, however, was not interested in letting her off the hook so easily. "Do you realize just how complex a memory charm really is? There's no way she could have performed it expertly without weeks of trial. Memory charms are tantamount to the patronus charm, Sylvia. Has she ever indicated where she learned it? Who she tested it on?"

Sylvia had lowered her head and was shaking it slowly back and forth. "No, it can't be. She said she knew it. She just wouldn't."

Kittie went to Sylvia and held her gently. "I'm sorry, Sylvia," she said quietly. "I read her thoughts. She thinks very little of muggles."

Sylvia sniffed. "I don't understand. She's my friend. She's always been good to me, and to muggles. Look, we hang out with muggles all the time." Sylvia looked up at Kittie and spread her hands in the direction of the party, which was still in full swing.

"But does she actually have muggle friends?" Marv asked. "Or does she only party with them because they amuse her?"

Again, Sylvia had no response. She merely looked between Kittie and Marv, and then, as if realizing something, asked, "Are you two aurors? Was this, like, some sort of sting?"

Kittie looked at Marv questioningly, not really understanding the term auror. Marv, making a quick calculation and deciding it would be best for extricating themselves from the situation, merely nodded.

"I guess I'm in pretty big trouble," Sylvia said, sighing. "My parents are going to be furious."

Marv and Kittie exchanged a look, silently communicating to one another. Kittie turned to Sylvia, clearly having adopted the role of good cop, and said in a kind and gentle voice. "Listen, we don't think it's necessary to write this up. Clearly you've learned your lesson. I think that, with a promise from you that you don't do this again, we can maybe just let it go."

"What about Amber?"

"I think perhaps we should let her go also," Kittie said dubiously, clearly not wanting to, but not really wanting to deal with an unconscious mind-rape victim.

Marv nodded. "They're just kids after all."

Sylvia nodded. "Thank you. She and I will sit and have a long talk about this. I promise. My mom's muggle-born, after all."

"Of course, of course," Marv agreed, not really caring.

A silence fell on them and, after a minute, both Kittie and Marv realized that Sylvia was waiting for them to do something.

"Er, yes?" Marv asked.

"Aren't you going to enervate her?"

Marv internally winced, realizing that he couldn't exactly do that. "Feel free to do that yourself."

Sylvia picked up her wand from the floor, saying, "The Ministry will know if I cast a spell. I can't really do magic without getting caught."

Marv sighed. Great, he thought, shaking his head and then, in a moment of brilliant inspiration, knelt down and lifted the cloaker off Amber, throwing the small, non-descript ring at Sylvia, who caught it deftly with her seeker reflexes. "Consider it a gift. It's Amber's cloaker."

"I couldn't take it," she began.

"First of all," Marv said, having no clue whether it was true or not, but deciding the delinquent brat in front of him wouldn't really know enough to call him on it, "It's illegal for her to be in possession of it, and, frankly, I don't really trust her. So take it and tell her it was confiscated."

After some reluctance, Sylvia donned the cloaker and enervated her friend, who was dizzy, and, as predicted, sporting a killer headache. The pair left, Sylvia taking Amber away after some fuss, Marv refusing to give back the girl's wand, and instead, in another flash of insight, asking them whether they lived far away, simultaneously giving Kittie a telling nod, indicating that she should skim the information and make a note of it for use later.

So, with that, the two dejected teens left, the illumination charm still in place, making the small office look fully operational, with the exception of the still unconscious punk continuing to drool all over himself, Marv and Kittie collectively sighing in relief, before exchanging significant glances with another and then bursting into manic laughter.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

The Queen of Hearts

Harry stood, disguised and looking out over the main street of Diagon Alley, the mid-afternoon sun streaming down in torrents across the asphalt, lighting up the various shoppers, their children, making their autumn robes shine in the brilliant light. Occasionally, he spotted a recognizable figure, some friends, others acquaintances, others enemies. He even spotted Marcus Flint slipping into Madam Boudoir's Love Boutique on what Harry imagined was his lunch break, and he spotted Lucius Malfoy turning a corner into Knock Turn Alley. He had come out to that particular balcony, which was an extension of an unused third floor flat, on several occasions, often to think, to ruminate on some of the deeper philosophical questions that had begun plaguing him during his self-imposed training regime over the last few months. He wasn't sure when it had all started; it seemed like such a long time ago. Maybe it was the day he fell into that other world - it seemed like a pivotal turning point for many things, or maybe it was the day he had been tortured by Tom and Jack deep within the bowels of Riddle Corp. Certainly that day had opened up a whole new world of magical potential for him, though he had discovered shortly thereafter that whatever flow of power that he could apparently unleashed came often unbidden. It had been something that he knew he could do intellectually, but had not quite been able to imprint in his intuitive faculties. It had manifested itself again the day he had found out about his parents, the day he had stolen a world-class racing broom, and since, he had found his spellwork to be competent, mostly because he had thrown himself into his work, had driven himself to succeed in attempting again and again some of the most complex magic that was out there, even though he lacked much of the educational background to execute them. Oddly enough, he had achieved tenuous, working results. He could produce a small null field with relative ease, though anything too complicated eluded him; certainly nothing on the scale of the Fidelius. The other spells, including the Chameleon transfiguration and the Transfiguratus were within his grasp. The light spell remained out of his league, though he wasn't exactly bothered by that, since the book didn't really give him a very good explanation on what the spell was. The authors didn't even seem to know themselves, and Harry suspected that their understanding of the Fidelius had come from second-hand accounts; they themselves probably hadn't been able to execute it.

What's the point of it all? he wondered, not for the first time. So what if I kill a Dark Lord in my world? There's apparently billions of them, all working in their own little world, each one as indistinctive as any other. In primary school, they had learned about the vastness of space, had even watched a Canadian documentary titled "Universe", which talked about all kinds of planets out there, and the huge distances between them, and how desolate everything was, and the composition of comets and asteroids, the only thing Harry remembering about it was that a lot of it was made of ammonia ice, apparently, not that he was entirely clear what that was. The term had just sounded cool to him at the time, and so it had stuck. Still, Harry had taken comfort in the knowledge that, no matter how big the rest of the world was, or the solar system or the galaxy or the universe at large, the things that went on around him were still important, because he was a unique individual; a special, beautiful little butterfly, and that gave his life meaning. Even the stupid fringe worlds couldn't take that away from him.

But this place; the idea that two Harry Potters could exist, that there could be two Tom Riddles, or, well, fourteen, as it were, the idea that there were more Rons and Hermiones, all of whom could take the place of his best friends, just boggled his mind. It made him wonder what the point of saving himself and his friends was when there could be a hundred other Rons running around being maimed and tortured. All in all, things sucked.

If Harry had been a little more self-reflexive, or perhaps older and wiser, he would have realized that the quagmire of existential ruminations did not revolve around himself, or his friends or the fates of Dark Lords or all the nameless, faceless innocent people out there who would suffer at the hands of vengeful people. No, they didn't. They, in fact, revolved around only one person; a person who, in his mind, he had come to deify or, more aptly, angelify in his mind's eye. A certain, red-haired, green-eyed witch with a radiant smile, an unwavering sense of justice, a natural skill at charms and a boundless love for her children. A love which had saved his life many times.

It would take you less than five minutes to find her, he told himself, staring down at the people below him. Not five minutes, just to go see her again, to watch her from the cover of a disillusionment charm, to find out more about her. About a woman who could have been your mother, who shares your blood, your genes, your eyes. Once latching onto the idea of seeing Lily Evans Potter, Harry could not shake it off, and found himself convince to go after her within less than a minute of internal conflict. And so, under disillusionment, Harry apparated with the typical popping sound, disappearing from Diagon Alley and reappearing in muggle London outside what looked, to some people anyway, to be a shabby old, abandoned warehouse.

Inside, the place looked exactly as it always had, people milling about in the waiting area, often restless, concern for their loved ones spilling out in a torrent of anxious phrases, making people jittery, causing them to pace endlessly about as others coaxed them into taking a seat and trying to remain inconspicuous. Keeping to the shadows, which was difficult with the preponderance of fluorescent lights, open spaces, blinding white walls and floors, upon which his shoes would have made a resounding clicking sound if he hadn't hit them with three silencing charms, Harry carefully traversed the main area, coming out into a large hallway, the antiseptic calm hitting him full on as the music from the wizarding wireless in the waiting area faded into the background. Here, the lights weren't quite so bright, the magic stronger, the air thick with the noxious taste of cleaning charms. An orderly with a small white cap passed by, stopping and glancing curiously in his direction causing him to stop in mid-step and hold his breath until she shook herself as if clearing her mind from a headrush and then proceeding onward to wherever it was that she was needed. Dumbledore could use her in the Order, he mused. She's clearly being under-utilized here, if she can really sense a disillusioned person like that. Harry shrugged and moved on, not giving it another thought. For all he knew, she was an auror trainee just working at St. Mungo's part-time, not having any clue what was involved with being an orderly or whether it was a profession all on its own.

Harry was content to spend time merely ghosting about the complex that was St. Mungo's drinking it in, absorbing the layout, the feel, the patches of silence and of chatter, much of which was centered around the cafeteria. For him, it was like enjoying an appetizer before what he knew was going to be an excellent main course; just like it was back on that warm, summer evening at Godric's Hollow.

"They're expecting another spike in victims this Halloween," a nurse said, chatting away to a doctor friend of hers as they exited the cafeteria.

"It's always the case now," the doctor replied, sighing. "You-Know-Who's got a funny way of showing sentiment, given that this is the night he was... well, you know." The doctor had looked suddenly uncomfortable making the claim that the Dark Lord had fallen, or had been vanquished. Funny, Harry thought, amused, given that they were in fact being overheard. Harry decided to follow them, for no particular reason, except that they had a purpose, and he was content to glom onto their sense of motivation. Briefly, it occurred to him that Halloween, even in his own time, tended to be wrought with strife, often at the hands of Lord Voldemort. In his first year, it had been the troll incident, which was Voldemort's doing, in second, it was the Chamber. Again, Voldemort. In the third, well, that was Sirius black. The fourth? Harry couldn't remember, and the fifth was the Umbridge plague. Maybe Halloween's cursed, he mused, just like the DADA position. Heck, even Snape hadn't survived.

The doctor and the nurse ascended to the third floor via an elevator, which Harry only barely managed to make it onto, thankful that they had used a freight elevator for staff members, because it afforded him a great deal more space.

"Did you hear about the Weasley kid?" asked the nurse, who, upon receiving a head shake from the doctor, continued, "Apparently he got a howler from his baby sister for generating a spawn with a - I quote, 'mudblood'."

The doctor rolled his eyes. "Good grief," he said. "A howler, in the bloody maternity ward. I had heard a bit about that. The only thing I could think was - how the hell did they let it past security?"

"Apparently the envelope had been charmed white so no one noticed, and the bird that dropped it off was a Malfoy falcon, so nobody dared touch it."

The doctor nodded. "Ah, well, if it came from Lucius, that pretty much explains it. Especially since he single-handedly financed the magical nursery."

The elevator doors opened and the two exited, Harry remaining behind and elevating himself to the mental ward, deciding he had had enough of perusing around and instead heading off in search of Lily Evans Black. When Harry came upon her, she was spooning food into Alice Longbottom's mouth, all the while chattering away about various current affair topics, maintaining a cheery disposition, continuing her banter as though she were in the midst of a dialogue. Alice, all the while, quietly ate away, munching on the peas and mashed potatoes and Shepherd's pie, appearing to the world as though she were listening intently to the monologue, occasionally, her disposition betraying her mental incapacity with her wandering gaze, her peculiar expressions that suggested she were reliving a long since forgotten memory of her own. Harry silently watched from a corner, his body half-obscured by a thin curtain, the Janus ward eerily silent except for the sounds of slurping and his mother's words. The ward was squirreled away in a particularly isolated area of the hospital, being closed off by a large, sound warded door and having little traffic passing by as it were at the end of an isolated hallway that led to a dead end.

As Harry watched his mother interact with the cruciatus victim, Harry felt both a pang of admiration for his mother, who willfully took on what he imagined to be an incredibly taxing and thankless job that required her to be constantly thinking of others, and also a pang of resolve to bring an end to Lord Voldemort's reign of terror, a resolve he had made before, a vow undertaken on so many occasions where the suffering of so many had been crystallized into one catalyzing event, like Dumbledore's death, or Sirius's or his parents. Once again, he swore to himself that he would make sure people did not suffer the way the Longbottoms had, Neville included.

Lily stopped talking and glanced upward, her expression turning curious as her eyes searched the ward. Harry wondered if perhaps she were sensing him, possibly through some rudimentary legilimancy, as he was aware he was currently being a beacon of thoughts and emotions, or because she could detect the sounds of human activity, his breathing, his warmth, his magical aura. Did she use perimeter charms? he wondered, realizing that she may have adopted a paranoid attitude like Moody. Certainly the wards on her home told of such a story.

"Hello?" she asked aloud, her voice carrying flatly in the ward. Harry held his breath, hoping against hope that she wouldn't ask again, that she would just go back to whatever it was that she was doing, feeding the Longbottoms, chatting away. Then, she said in a softer voice, though not looking in his direction, "Harry?"

Harry felt as though his heart had stopped at that moment. Did she recognize him? His scent, or his aura? Was it something else? Some sort of indefinable quality, some intrinsic relationship that a mother had to her child? He didn't know. All he knew for certain was that he wanted to cancel the disillusionment charm and show himself to her, subject himself to her scrutiny, to be proven for once in his life that he was worth their love, for them to embrace him in their arms, to undo all the damage that the Dursleys had inflicted upon him. But, just as quickly as it had come, Lily shook herself and returned to her work, berating herself for being so foolish as to think her son was in the room with her.

But I am, he thought, willing for her to come and find him, to break through his defenses and drag him into her arms, to hold him, let him taste the scent of her skin, of soap and sweat and whatever other smells made her who she was. Unfortunately, she didn't do that, though, after another minute, she looked up yet again, her eyes once more searching the empty ward, many of the patients sedated and unobtrusively sleeping their lives away.

At first, Harry wondered if she had yet again sensed him, he himself still wavering on the cusp of revealing himself to her. But then, after a minute of quietly sweating away, he took a moment to discern her expression, and what he saw there troubled him. There was concern, apprehension, sobriety, and, worst of all, a tinge of fear in her eyes. She was searching for something, all right, and Harry began to realized that, whatever it was she was searching for, it was no longer him.

"Mom?" he choked out in a dead whisper, his voice too quiet for her to hear. She seemed to react to it, regardless, though before either of them could do anything, the door opened and a sudden, ominous feeling began to grow in the pit of Harry's stomach. A young adult of medium height entered, a white orderly's cap crowning a head of short, cropped black hair that was neatly combed backwards. His body was lean, though not scrawny, telling of an inner strength. He walked with an incredible poise, a grace that Harry had seen too many times before, but always with just the one person. he had the most incredibly bland features; he was a pretty boy, with good looks and endless reams of charisma, his black boots clicking lightly on the tiled floor as though he could walk on water. And his eyes, Harry realized, staring into those fathomless orbs, were a jewel-tone red, deep and rich and penetrating and telling of a great sorrow and a great pity.

Oh my God, Harry thought, his entire body racked with paralysis. It can't be. Immediately and without realizing it, he erected the strongest Occlumancy shields he had ever managed to produce, his entire body coiling with anticipation.

The door closed behind him with a loud click and a whooshing sound that gave Harry the feeling that they were now locked in with this creature of doom, that there was no escape, that there would be no rescue from Dumbledore, or others. Lily, Harry noticed, had slowly climbed to her feet, her stance one that was tall and surprisingly regal, her eyes sharp and keening the environment, as if assessing every bed, every table, every bedpan for signs of weapons and shields. Never before that moment had Harry ever realized just how incredibly daunting his mother could be, her entire being screaming of a dangerous beast gone crazed from destitution, and having come out of it with an endless, icy calm.

"Lord Voldemort," she said in a tone that had no trace of fear.

"Mrs. Black," said Lord Voldemort, nodding in her direction. "We meet again."

"It's been a long time," she said neutrally, her fingers now just inches from her wand.

Lord Voldemort adopted what could have been a warm yet mildly hurt sort of look between two old friends and proceeded to say, "well, I did try and visit you on occasion, but discovered, to my dismay, that you have warded your home very well. By the way, congratulations, for being the first witch ever to successfully ward against a null field without actually using a null field yourself. Most impressive."

"Thank you," she replied, still in that neutral tone. "Impregnability was my main concern."

"That you have done, my dear. If it weren't for the fact that my followers would revolt, I would offer you a position in my inner circle." Lord Voldemort made a show of looking around, his gaze soaking up the sight of the half eaten potato mush and the peas that had fallen on the floor. "You could still join me, of course. As a silent partner. After we prove your brilliance to the others, I'm sure they would see reason and accept you. Who knows, perhaps you could effect some changes amongst some of my more conservative followers."

"I don't think that's really an option, Lord Voldemort," Lily said carefully. "I can't really condone violence in any form and against anyone. Certainly not muggles."

Lord Voldemort sighed. "Ah yes, it is a chronic problem with my platform. I can't tell you how many times muggle-born witches and wizards have refused me simply because of the muggle issue. If only you knew them the way I knew them."

"If only you knew them the way I knew them," she countered swiftly, throwing his own words back at him.

"Indeed. That will always be the crux of the issue," Lord Voldemort replied, unperturbed by Lily's persistent defiance.

"What do you want here, exactly?" Lily asked, keeping her fingers close to her wand but still not drawing it. Harry supposed that she was wary of starting a firefight in a room full of defenseless people, not to mention the fact that she was clearly outmatched.

"You may relax, Mrs. Black," Voldemort said, giving her a beatific smile. "I am not here for you. In fact, I would prefer not to start a fight with you, at least not now, given that you have shown to me just what a Slytherin you can be. No, I am not here for you at all."

"Then who are you here for?" she asked, now obviously curious. Harry too, wondered just who amongst the members of the Janus ward would be of interest to the Dark Lord.

"It's quite simple," Lord Voldemort responded, taking a moment to draw out the suspense. "I am here for your son."

A dead silence fell over the room, Lily taking a deep breath and absorbing the information as best she could. Lord Voldemort simply seemed to be waiting for her to do this, taking his time, casually looking about, curious himself as to just who ended up in that abysmal place. Harry meanwhile, was going nuclear, at least in his mind. The little residents inside his head who had always spoken to him during his times of trial, who accused him of bringing his friends to their death at the end of fifth year, the ones who were borne out of necessity from long days spent locked in a dark cupboard under the stairs, those timeless friends of his were all running around ripping out their hair, shrieking like little girls, objects and structures in his mind exploding spontaneous, shattered glass and concrete crashing against the cobbled streets, smoke billowing about, the entire scene reminding him of the clowns from Dumbo. Only, this time, it seemed he was the one trapped in the burning building, and his mindmates did not have one of those trampoline things with which to break his fall. Oh, crap.

Dimly, he heard his mother saying, "I don't know what you're talking about, or what kind of sick game you're playing at," her voice clearly indicating that she was shaken by Voldemort's words. "Harry's not here. I haven't seen him at all since his supposed return."

You know the jig is up, one of his mindmates called to him from the ground. You know you're going to have to quit hiding and just jump, safety net or no safety net, Harry. It's time. Resignedly, Harry knew this to be true. Lord Voldemort knew he was there, probably knew his exact location, courtesy of perimeter charms, and there was really no point hiding anymore. All it would do would be to keep Lily wrong-footed as she tried to figure out what the Dark Lord was talking about. Vaguely, Harry knew that Lord Voldemort was amusing himself with them, toying with them, waiting for Harry to break his self-imposed silence, enjoying it as yet another victory. So, it was with a heavy heart that Harry tentatively raised his wand and cancelled the disillusionment charm. At first, Lily did not see him, his body still partly obscured by the fabric of the curtain, her gaze riveted to the Dark Lord. Harry took a step forward, acutely aware of the precarious position he and his mother was in. "I'm right here," he said in as confident a voice as he could muster.

Lily whirled around so fast, Harry felt sympathy pains of whiplash.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with surprise as she drank in the sight of him. And then, in a whisper, as if not quite prepared to believe it was true, she whispered in a cracked voice, "Harry."

"Yeah, it's me," he said, turning to face her squarely, his eyes locking with hers, feeling in his gut that Lord Voldemort would not take that moment to strike, that not even he would be so cruel, at least not unless there was something tremendous to be gained from it. Instead, he simply watched, content to amuse himself with the drama that was unfolding before him.

"You're alive," Lily said in a strained voice. "My God, Harry..."

"Yeah, I'm alive," he said, nodding, the feeling of lead weights dragging his gaze downward.

"I didn't want to believe," she said sadly, reaching one hand out to him as if to stroke his cheek, even though he was a good five paces away. "It was like it was too much to hope for. You've returned."

He nodded, not really sure what to say. It all felt so wrong, all of a sudden. He wanted nothing more than to go to her, to let her hold him in her arms, and suddenly, he wished he had taken Sylvia up on her invitation, to have gotten this conversation out of the way long ago, for he knew that he could not do that now. He could not go to her; not in front of Lord Voldemort. He wished he had just abandoned all his duties and climbed up those few steps into the old Potter home in Godric's Hollow, basked in their love, told his story, listened to his mother's voice for days on end, just sitting there, with the sun shining in through the kitchen windows as she prepared lunch on a lazy Saturday afternoon, all the while looking up into her beautiful face adoringly, his head resting in the palms of his hand, keeping silent, just soaking her in, filling the empty space of all those missed days of childhood.

It was as though it were all being taken from him again, the chance at a decent life, the chance to just know something about his mother. He felt it all slipping through his fingers, and it made him really, really angry.

Turning to Lord Voldemort, he spoke, his voice thick with fury, "I won't let you harm her."

"As I said," he replied. "I have no intention of harming her. You, on the other hand, are another story."

"You want to fight me?" Harry asked incredulously, though in truth he was hardly surprised. "Why the hell do you want to do that? What have I done to you?"

"Mostly it's because you've besmirched my name, tricked the wards at Hogwarts, are running amuck doing things that, quite frankly, I don't really approve of," he replied calmly, explaining the reasons that Harry had to die.

I'm so not hearing anymore of this, he decided. Like the bastard would tell you the truth anyway. In some ways, Harry had been waiting for this day since the end of his fifth year, when he had seen Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort duel. He had been waiting, ever since Sirius's death to just get it over with, to duel him to the end, however quick and painful it might have been, and to just go to his parents. So, it was with his usual practiced ease that he dodged the first spell that came his way.

"Avada kedavra."

Pah, Harry thought irritably, dodging to one side as the spell whizzed by at lightning speed. Couldn't you at least open with something more original? Hell, it was the same spell he had started off with when they dueled in the cemetery. I suppose he doesn't think I'm worth employing any actual dueling tactics against.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry said, casting a spell just as he collapsed to the ground to dodge another spell, which flew by overhead.

The battle began in earnest. Without even breaking stride, Harry cast the immobilizing charm on his mother, the same spell that Dumbledore had used to incapacitate Harry atop the Astronomy Tower. Unlike the full body bind, it didn't take control of your limbs, so it didn't have the effect of disorienting the victim of the spell after it was removed. In that way, Lily would be fully ready to fight the second the spell was broken, which would occur upon Harry's incapacitation or his death, making it ideal for his purposes.

In a moment, Harry found himself crouching on top of a sleeping mental patient and rolling out of the way of four rapid fire reductor curses, throwing out a medley of stunners and reductors himself, taking note that Voldemort didn't even waste his time batting the stunners away, since they apparently had no effect on him. The reductor curses blew a hole out of the side wall, and Harry made a mental note to keep well clear of them, for they were clearly very powerful.

"Protago!" Harry shouted, finding himself pinned between two beds with four more reductors en route. To Voldemort's surprise, his shield held despite the brutal onslaught, the only sign of strain the slight flickering as each spell impacted. without missing a beat, Voldemort discharged yet another reductor, though this time, he aimed it at the bed to Harry's right, Harry realizing too late that the reductor curse was aimed at the patient, who promptly exploded in a fit of blood and meat chunks, gastric juices and bone bits spraying Harry, who flinched, dropping his shield and being forced to throw himself into the mix of gore, the patient coming alive at the same time and feebly flailing as she died right then and there. Harry, in a desperate, pitched attempt to deflect an unknown dark curse, hurled the severed arm of the now dead patient in the path of the spell, rolling off the bed and falling to the floor, discharging two reductor curses as he hit the ground. Voldemort must have been surprised by the innovative use of the cadaver and also by the speed at which Harry retaliated with the two reductor curses, because one of them managed to slip past his defenses and hit him squarely in his arm, shredding his robe and causing a large purple welt to form, which in turn seemed to momentarily surprise him yet again, as though he couldn't believe that the spell had caused that much damage. He even stopped and watched as blood trickled down his arm from the bruise, giving Harry a moment to recuperate and lament that the reductor hadn't done nearly as much as it was supposed to.

As such, Harry found himself switching to much more serious curses, as did Voldemort, who realized that there was more to Harry than meets the eye. "Sectum Sempra," Harry whispered, not entirely confident that he could pull off the more serious curses silently. The sound of the spell snapped Voldemort back to attention, and he immediately erected a solid, black shield that absorbed the curse. "Sectum Sempra," Harry said, this time even more quietly, discharging another spell, though this time Voldemort was ready and, instead of maintaining his shield, he dropped it and sidestepped the curse, firing another spread of reductors, chased by a curse with a familiar purple light, Harry collapsing himself yet again to the ground to avoid them, sending the same curse again, this time two of them in rapid succession. Voldemort batted them both away, and, before Harry could stand up, sent the exsanguination curse and two bone shattering curses, neither of which Harry was particularly prepared to shield against, given that they both looked incredibly strong. As such, he disapparated to the other side of the room, springing to his feet as he reappeared and dodging yet another Mudblood curse and sending off the Sectum Sempra curse yet again, while, at the same time, wandlessly summoning a bed from the other side of the room, silently apologizing to whoever was in it for pretty much signing their death warrant. he made sure to keep up a stream of curses to retain Voldemort's attention, all the while employing some of the craziest footwork both Voldemort and Lily Evans had ever seen. Only at the last second did Voldemort seemed to sense what Harry had done, barely turning around before the bed smashed into him full on, knocking him over and collapsing over top of him, Harry already whispering, "Sectum Sempra," aiming for the bed because he knew, without a doubt, that Voldemort would be standing in an instant. Sure enough, the bed was blown to bits and Voldemort seemed to be standing there, as though he had never even been knocked over. However, he did not have the time to raise a shield, thus taking Harry's lethal curse full on in the chest, his robes being slashed away by the spell, a long red gash forming across his chest. For a moment, again, all time seemed to stop as Voldemort looked down at the streams of blood that were running down his chest, staining his tattered clothes, all the while, again, Harry lamenting that the spell, while doing far more than the stupid reductor, did not do nearly the damage it was supposed to.

Damn, damn, damn, he thought angrily, apparating out of the way of another hex, only to have to erect a shield the moment he reappeared.

"Avada kedavra," said Voldemort, discharging the killing curse, which travelled at high speed toward Harry, who apparated out of the way yet again, this time coming up behind a potted plant that he absently noted was devil's snare. Funny thing to have in a mental ward, he mused, levitating a nearby bed and banishing it in front of Voldemort, who shattered it with an unknown spell, Harry meanwhile, casting a gale force wind to throw all the bed fluff and shrapnel from the shredded frame Voldemort's way.

There was a wailing sound from nearby -one of the patients had awoken. Voldemort absently sent a killing curse at the middle-aged male, but Harry, summoned the person clean out of their bed and guided them to the floor.

Within the blink of an eye, Voldemort transfigured the bed into a tiger, which Harry responded instantly to by casting the imperius and sending it after Voldemort, who dispatched it with a killing curse.

Both combatants took an instinctive step backward, Voldemort eyeing Harry with a speculative look, Harry remaining tense and coiled for action.

"You are rather powerful for your age," Voldemort noted, a hint of curiosity in his voice. "You are an occlumans, which is surprising in and of itself. Not much of one, to be sure, but enough for dueling purposes. And you can cast wordlessly, and have strong wandless capabilities, both of which are unusual. You are practiced in the use of the imperius., which is arguably the most difficult of the three unforgiveables. You are magically above average, have strong, focused spellwork, and you can cast multiple spells simultaneously." Voldemort stopped speaking and continue to eye Harry with that same, speculative look.

"Well, thank you for the appraisal, Tom," Harry said in as calm a voice as he could manage, despite the unnerving way that Voldemort was now considering him, noting with some satisfaction the surprise and irritation that crossed his features at Harry's use of his muggle name.

"I see, you will never join me," Lord Voldemort finally said, his voice tinged with regret. "It's a pity. You could have been great. You could have been my top lieutenant."

"I know," Harry replied, smiling a sad sort of smile. "It's funny that way. We both grew up abused by muggles, and, if I were truly honest with myself, I have to admit I seriously considered turning to the dark arts, but, in the end, I couldn't bring myself to do it. That is the very thing that now defines me."

"But you use them still," Lord Voldemort said. "That is what surprises me above all else, for, in my experience, to use them is to be consumed by them, much as I have been consumed."

It was now Harry's turn to be surprised, more by the admission of the wizard who purported himself to be the greatest, to be admitting to having been overwhelmed.

Lord Voldemort merely chuckled at Harry's expression. "I see that you're startled that I would show humility, or that I would recognize weakness. I would have to be a fool to think I am greater than magic itself. Dark Lords may be properly described as evil, but that does not mean they need be stupid, Harry."

"You're right. The last thing I would want to do is underestimate you," he said.

"As I have been doing with you. Alas, I shan't any longer. Prepare yourself, Harry Potter, for this will be our final battle. You have been a most intriguing adversary. I wish you well."

Harry nodded, accepting the sentiment, but not quite willing to return it. Again, Harry adopted a standard dueling posture, and, this time, so did Lord Voldemort.

Harry, for the first time in his life, cast the killing curse. "Avada kedavra," he said, green light lighting up Lord Voldemort's features for the first time that day as the curse that had been the death sentence for so many sped towards the Dark Lord, who, strangely enough, was altogether preoccupied by something else, absently stepping out of the curse's way without even looking at it, while Harry began to send multiple curses at Lord Voldemort. "Sectum Sempra," he said, chasing the dark curse with a volley of reductor curses, Many of which past harmlessly by. One reductor hit Voldemort in the chest, but he still didn't seem to notice, and so Harry continued pummeling him, many of his curses being dodged or wandlessly blocked as Lord Voldemort continued a whispered chant under his breath.

And then, in a flash, and a ripple of dark light that swam to all corners of the room, momentarily disorienting Harry, Lord Voldemort was done.

"What the hell?" Harry asked, scanning all the edges of the room and looking to figure out what had happened.

Voldemort merely smiled the cold, dangerous smile that had quelled the courage of so many Gryffindors who dared stand before him; the same smile that Marv had used when breaking Sylvia's will just weeks prior. "Sectum Sempra," Harry said, again, shooting off the curse, but it was to no avail, for Lord Voldemort blocked it with a crescent-shaped shield, through which he also sent off a medley of reductor curses, some of which Harry dodged and some of which he blocked with a basic shield.

This is useless, Harry thought. I can't break him like this. However, before he could act, Voldemort made a wide, sweeping gesture with his wand, transfiguring all the bed posts and support beams into rattlesnakes, generating twelve of them, all of whom were converging on Harry. Simultaneously, Lord Voldemort pressed the attack, hissing and discharging one spell after the next.

A reductor curse clipped Harry in the arm, forming a long gash, and another grazed Harry on the side of the head, causing a large swelling to form. Harry, meanwhile, transfigured the snakes into birds and sent them fluttering into the air, many of them going to their deaths as they connected with several spells, meanwhile, Harry pulled the same trick as Voldemort, transfiguring many of the room's objects into large snakes, and then, to Voldemort's momentary surprise, hissing at them to go forth and attack, which they did, now putting Voldemort, for a brief moment on the defensive. Harry, however, did not let up, instead hissing to Bono to attack. "Bono," Harry said urgently, wandlessly shattering all the lights in the room and sending the glass fragments at Voldemort, simultaneously plunging them into darkness, making it more difficult for him to defend against the oncoming snakes.

In a flash, Voldemort raised an illumination charm and transfigured all the snakes into spiders that were scurrying at Harry, who transfigured them all back, avoiding another killing curse and quietly whispering to Bono, who complied and slithered off his arm, taking position in one corner of the room so that he faced away from Lily, waiting all the while for Harry to get in position.

Voldemort, irritated at Harry's ability to continue surviving despite his formidable efforts, transfigured the four remaining snakes into puffs of air that quickly dispersed, while, simultaneously, sending two reductor curses at Harry, who made to apparate out of the way, only to discover, to his dismay, that he couldn't. "Wha-fuck?" he cried out, falling backwards, but not before one of the reductor curses blew apart his arm, leaving a large bloody stump in its place as he collapsed to the ground, his wand skittering to one side. NO! his mind shouted out, DAMMIT, NO! All the while, blood poured like a river out of his body, marching him slowly but inevitably towards death.

He took a moment to wandlessly cauterize the wound, searing his flesh, knowing he had no choice if he wanted to survive at all, his enduring silence amidst the agony a testament to his hard life.

Voldemort shook his head pityingly at Harry, who lay panting on the ground, his face contorted into a look of suppressed torture. "So, you have come to your end. It is most curious, your fortitude, Harry. I wonder how long it truly lasts. How long can you survive under the brutal onslaught of my wrath? How long before you pass out from the pain?" And, with that, Voldemort knelt down and brushed the hair from Harry's forehead, looking almost lovingly at his eyes, glancing only with momentary curiosity at the lightning shaped scar on his forehead, the scar that had marked him as Lord Voldemort's equal, one of the central, defining characteristics in his life. Then, just as swiftly, he stood and took a step back. "It was something of a bonus that you didn't realize I had erected an anti-apparation jinx. Curious that there would be such a lacuna in your otherwise formidable education." And, with that, he turned to Harry, raised his wand and said in a tight, controlled voice, "Crucio."

If the pain from his arm weren't so bad, Harry could have laughed. "You don't really think-" Harry managed to say before the amber light connected with his body, throwing him into a place of... well, mild discomfort. Again, Harry wanted to laugh. He had survived so much in his short life; the vast majority of his days filled with pain of one sort or another, whether it be the chronic starvation of his childhood, the mental and emotional suffering that forged his iron determination, cruciatus at the hands of Lord Voldemort at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, the oppression under the reign of Umbridge, not the least of which was the liberal use of the blood quill, the solitude of that cold hour or so of darkness when he lay on the Hogwarts Express, his nose broken, blood dripping down his face, tickling the stubble on his chin as he lay paralyzed under his invisibility cloak, and then, of course, days under torture at Tom's hand.

And so, Harry, under the effects of the most violent torture known to wizards, being administered by the most powerful wizard on Earth short of Albus Dumbledore, simply began to laugh, a full, rich sound, the fire on his nerves unable to penetrate the dragonhide-thick calluses that testified to his enduring strength; it was a deep belly laugh, punctuated by shrill fits of giggles, the sounds of which had the effect doing what nothing else in the world had ever done to Lord Voldemort. It scared him. It was an unnerving, sort of fear that made his spine tingle, that made him feel utterly cold and helpless and want to run away and crawl under the blankets of his warm, four-poster bed and curl up in the fetal position. And so, Harry laughed, bloodied and full of pain, he laughed, Voldemort unable to believe what he was seeing, his mind not able to process it, his body unable to disconnect himself from the manic image of his supposedly defeated adversary.

Abruptly, Harry stopped laughing and instead focused his attention strictly on Lord Voldemort, his head raised, his rich, emerald eyes now blazing with energy as he looked clean into Voldemort's red ones, and Harry smiled a manic, triumphant, 'I know something you don't know' sort of smile, a gleam in his eyes.

"It can't be," Voldemort whispered, not understanding how it was possible that anyone could shrug off the most excruciating of all tortures, his voice telling a story of confusion and fear and awe. Not even, he, mighty Lord Voldemort could shrug off the curse the way Harry had done; not even after all his transformations. Frankly, there was nobody on the planet who could do such a thing, and certainly not laugh in the face of it.

Lord Voldemort finally broke the curse, and, after standing there for a long time, merely asked in a desperate, demanding sort of voice, "How?"

"You'll never understand, Tom," Harry replied, the smile slipping off his face, memories of his life flashing before his eyes as he thought about all that he was, the things that made him Harry James Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One.

For the first time that day, Lord Voldemort lost all his composure. His eyes, once a gleaming red, were now clouded with a haze of rage. "If I can't torture you directly, then I will get at you through her." Voldemort whirled around, the vestiges of his robes still managing to billow, his wand now pointed at Lily Evans Black, who was still paralyzed, her eyes having taken in all that had transpired during that long, painful battle.

"NO!" Harry shouted, summoning his wand instantly to his fingers, as he shouted out, "BONO! NOW!"

Voldemort was completely unaware that Harry had switched to Parseltongue, not being able to distinguish the difference between the two languages. As such, he was not prepared for the intense yellow gaze of the basilisk as it materialized in front of him, it hissing, "I will kill you, Lord Voldemort. I have watched as you attacked my master, and now you will pay with your life." Lord Voldemort seemed to understand only at the last minute what the significance of the snake in front of him meant, but he did not manage to close his eyes in time, the gaze of the deadly creature boring into his own.

Yes! Harry shouted in his mind, all his little mindmates dancing around the streets naked and happy crying out, Eureka! Eureka! That is, until it slowly dawned on him that Lord Voldemort was not dead. It could be said from his expression that he was in pain, yes, but dead? Not a chance.

No, he thought miserably, dragging himself to his feet, all the while Bono continually engaged in some sort of magical mind war with the Dark Lord. Eventually, to Harry's horror, Bono looked away, clearly defeated.

"Fucking hell!" Harry yelled, on the cusp of throwing a tantrum. "WHAT THE FUCK DOES IT TAKE TO KILL YOU! YOU GODDAMNED BASTARD!" Harry was on his feet now, staggering toward the Dark Lord, his wand raised, but not to curse him. No, Harry had, quite frankly, lost it. Voldemort turned around, still dazed and recovering from the basilisk, not quite able to focus on Harry who, to Lily's surprise, took the point of his phoenix feather and holly wand and rammed it clean into Lord Voldemort's left eye, skewering the eyeball like a pork medallion on a shish kebob. He jammed it as far as he could jam it. "Just die already!" Harry ground out through clenched teeth. Still awash with insane fury, Harry yanked his wand from Voldemort's eye, greyish slime splattering outward in little globules, only to drive it back into the same now deformed eye socket. Still not satisfied with the pus and blood drizzling down Voldemort's cheek, Harry began twisting his wand from side to side, grinding up the gore in Voldemort's brain, intent on making as big a mess of his face as he could manage. Voldemort's eyeball, which had been partly skewered the first time, now dangled limply out of his head, lolling about and staring idly at Harry and Lily.

Lord Voldemort seemed to move as though he were operating through a drunken haze, Harry not one foot from him as he grabbed the boy by his shoulders and forcibly lifted him into the air, demonstrating inhuman strength. "You," he managed, his voice slurred, his head lolling about, the wand still jutting out of his eye, his posture slack, his body swaying as he tried to crush the life from Harry's torso with his bare hands. Harry, meanwhile, was still recovering from blood loss, his body woozy, the adrenalin pumping through his body not quite able to keep him going given all that he had suffered, his hands caked with a combination of his own blood and with the blood of the collateral victims in the ward.

"Yeah, it's me," Harry said, ignoring the pain Voldemort was inflicting on his chest, a manic glee still in his eyes. "How do you like them apples, motherfucker?" Harry then reached out to grab his wand, intent on coring out his arch-enemy's other eyeball with the same enthusiasm, the same relish, the same sadistic pleasure. Voldemort, realizing that he didn't have the strength to kill Harry by collapsing his chest cavity with his bare hands, and not wanting to be completely blinded, threw him bodily in the direction of his mother, his form crashing against her, both of them tumbling to the ground, Lily's limbs coming up to grasp him as they came to a halt, her paralysis having been effectively broken.

"Oof," she said, Harry's shoulder slamming into her chest, knocking the wind from her.

Harry, meanwhile, scrambled to his feet, collapsing as he toppled over, having overbalanced due to his missing arm, and landing squarely on his butt, looking up at Lord Voldemort, who had managed to regain his composure, his good eye once again brimming with focused rage. Harry watched as the Dark Lord slowly and carefully extracted the wand, now smothered in gore, smoking ganglia hanging from the tip like vermicelli noodles. Once having pulled it from his mutilated eye socket, the Dark Lord, to Harry's horror, snapped it clean in half, carelessly throwing the pieces to either side.

Harry gulped, knowing that his time may very well have come to an end. He wondered if there was a prophesy in this world too.

Voldemort cleared his throat, a manic smile on his face. "Enough of this," he said, his voice reduced to a sibilant hiss. "It's over for you, boy." Lord Voldemort then raised his wand and incanted in soft, deadly tones, "Avada-"

"Expelliarmus!" Lily cried out, having regained her equilibrium and gotten to her knees, her wand in hand. The spell struck dead on, Voldemort having been completely unprepared for the speed at which Lily had drawn her wand. However, just as so many curses before them failed, so did this one, Voldemort turning his one eye to her and smiling his cruel, twisted smile, as he said, "Crucio."

Harry watched helplessly as his mother was hit with the curse and began writhing on the ground, her limbs flailing about right next to him, her screams ringing out in the otherwise silent ward. She cried, she wept, she trembled and jerked about, Harry watching mesmerized, transfixed by the torture of his angel-mother. No, no, no, he thought fiercely in his mind's eye, reaching for her wand and picking it up and turning it to Voldemort. Of all the things he was willing to withstand in his life, seeing his mother suffer like that was not one of them. His rage still swirling in him like a hurricane, Harry "swiftly and easily called together enough dark emotions to incant the killing curse. Avada kedavra," he whispered, the death spell shooting out from his mother's wand. Sensing its swift approach, Voldemort cut the connection to Lily and tried to maneuver out of the way. However, Harry had managed to discharge the curse at incredible speed, giving Voldemort only enough time to twitch before the curse struck him directly in the chest.

All time seemed to stop.

It was only then, at that moment, as the spell impacted with Lord Voldemort, that Harry began to truly understand just what it was about the Dark Lord that people feared. Just why it was that people were beset by the most irrational fear that even saying his name would bring death upon their heads. Just why it was that the sight of him, his name even, struck terror into the hearts of people. Why it was that people no longer thought of him as a man, that people like Hagrid had said back before his first year that he reckoned there wasn't enough human in him left to die, for, as it was becoming painfully clear to Harry, Lord Voldemort wasn't really alive at all. The dreaded killing curse, the curse that cut one's soul from their body, had no purchase on the Dark Lord. He was, for all intents and purposes, six-sevenths dead, already.

You have lost, child, a new voice inside his head said quietly, gently chiding him for his reckless persistence. There never was any stopping the Dark Lord like this. You had been bold, and reckless and proud, and it has cost you dearly, and, this final time, it will cost you yet again. I pray this is your last lesson. Go forth, feeble child. Reap what you have sown.

Lord Voldemort had turned his attention back to Harry, this mere child who had become a thorn in his side, once again forgetting about Lily Evans Black, who was slowly but surely dragging herself to her hands and knees. "So, now," said Lord Voldemort, relishing his victory, tired and worn out as he already was. "Now comes your demise, Harry Potter. Go gently into that good night." And, with that final parting, he incanted yet again, "Avada kedavra."

Harry merely sat and watched, dazed, beaten, broken by the knowledge that he deserved death. It was as though a pall had descended over him. In the brief time that it took for that green light to cross the short distance between the Dark Lord and himself, he reflected on the nature of love, how it had the power to make you incredibly vulnerable and incredibly strong at the same time. He supposed it was that vulnerability that Lord Voldemort abhorred. All things have opposites, Harry mused. He supposed the degree of vulnerability was proportional to the degree of strength it afforded. The longer and harder you fought, the more desperate you became when acting out of the purest selflessness, out of love for another, the more power you summoned, in one form another. So strong was it, that few could control it, few could permit themselves to open up like that, like a faucet being turned up to the maximum, letting energy flow through you like water. It was one of those key differences he had always noticed between ordinary folk and Dumbledore. When Dumbledore dueled, he had always remained perfectly calm, perfectly poised and relaxed, as though he were enjoying a massage and not fighting for his life and the lives of his friends. Accepting love means accepting death, he thought, that phrase striking a chord within him, speaking to him on some deeper, visceral level that he could not describe. Accept death, and you shall live.

And so, Harry came to accept death. He looked curiously up into Voldemort's gruesome visage, his gaze locking with Voldemort's one good eye, suddenly aware of all the aches in his body, the distinctive feel of his mangled arm, taste of burnt flesh, the feel of dark magic in the air. Come and take me away, he thought, no longer terribly concerned about the prophecy or saving lives, or finding true love. God and life are a wheel. Another soldier will rise out of Voldemort's rule, Harry knew. Another saviour. It was the way of things, and it gave him hope to know that souls were immortal, and, more importantly, eternity was not engendered in the first one hundred years of one's existence.

Therefore, it came as a distinct surprise to him when his mother, who, still shuddering uncontrollably from prolonged cruciatus exposure, her entire body trembling, her arms and legs twitching and supporting her weight through sheer force of will alone, crawled jerkily in front of him, shielding him from death for a few precious seconds longer. It took a moment for Harry's brain to process what he was seeing. Her face was still twisted into a grimace of pain, probably exacerbated from having to drag herself to her hands and knees to make her way those short few steps. Still, he could see a look of contentment stealing over her features too, which was odd, he thought, since she was about to die. Perhaps she too understood what death really meant, or perhaps she simply felt that it was worth her life to spare her son a few more seconds, even knowing that it would do little to increase his chances of survival.

The crushing realization of Lily Evans Black's sacrifice seemed to sever the already tenuous connection between Harry's mind and his body, so that Harry felt as though he had become a disinterested spectator in the events unfolding around him. Curiously he watched, exactly as he had done when he was a baby, when Lord Voldemort had murdered his mother and he had had no clue what was going on, burbling about contentedly while his happy life came crashing down around him.

Suddenly as though it happened in a flash, it was over, her body stripped of life, not a mark on her, her body collapsed in a heap at his feet. Distantly, Harry heard Lord Voldemort muttering about wasted talent. Harry felt himself reach forward, much as his mother had reached out to him earlier. This time, however, they were close enough to one another that Harry could run his sweaty palm against her cheek, which, his mind noted absently, was flushed from her recent exertion. He brushed a stray lock of red hair from her eyes, as though concerned that it might bother her during her otherwise peaceful repose. Something huge was giving way in Harry, though neither his mind nor his body seemed able to process it.

Mother, he thought, his gaze transfixed by the sight of her corpse. Mother...

The Dark Lord incanted the killing curse for what would be his last time, though Harry did not take notice. Instead he was filled with a feeling that was both warm and cold, that sought to burn him and freeze him all at the same time. Touching his fingers to her cheeks was like touching a live wire. It sent jolts through him; jolts which were both invigorating and painful, like what he imagined defibrillation to feel like. Harry remained consumed by a vast blankness of thought for a long time, his body remaining motionless, his eyes still gently roaming over his mother's features. His hands making repetitive stroking motions on her cheek. Even as the killing curse sped toward him, he remained oblivious, his mind still detached from his body. He was lost in a sea of indistinct emotions so deep that, even when the dreaded green light from his childhood nightmares struck home, the spell landing squarely atop his lightning-shaped scar - even then he felt nothing except the energy that flowed between himself and his dead mother, the dam of emotions that he had built up over the years, his staunch resolve never to show weakness having been utterly vapourized. In a flash, Lord Voldemort was no more, but Harry never noticed, his gaze never straying from his mother's form.

Mother, his mind called out yet again, tears slipping down his cheeks for the first time in nearly fifteen years. Mother...

People came and went, orderlies happening upon the weeping child and the healer, many of them shocked, some running away, some transfixed by the carnage in the Janus Thickey ward, some going to get doctors and aurors and news reporters. Time passed, Harry was taken away, still in a state of near catatonia.


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: I don't own any of it, whether it be Harry Potter or Pulp Fiction, or anything in-between.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The Trial

After that fateful day in the hospital, Harry was carted away to a maximum security prison chamber to await trial. He hadn't really put up much of a fuss initially, though he supposed somewhere in the back of his mind he had expected Albus Dumbledore and the Order to pull some strings and arrange for his release. He was Harry Potter, after all.

However, after ten days of solitude he began to realize that he was pretty much alone. Reflecting on the events in the Janus Ward, he supposed it was quite likely that people blamed him for Lily's death. The world may not have even been aware that Lord Voldemort had been vanquished, given that there really wasn't a body left to speak of, and, as such, no evidence short of the copious amounts of blood, most of which was his. Still, Harry had trusted in the belief that Dumbledore would simply know the truth, for Dumbledore had always had the uncanny ability to know things that he shouldn't have known. Still, nobody came. Harry Potter was a secret Death Eater who went to finish Lord Voldemort's work, murdering his own mother, as well as using multiple unforgiveables and killing a bunch of aurors. He was a damned soul, and, if it weren't for the fact that the dementors had run off, he probably would have been kissed already.

As it were, though, he was merely in confinement. Days had stretched into weeks, weeks into months, though Harry couldn't quite be sure, since he wasn't permitted even a view to the outside world, or a clock or anything that ran on magic. Quickly, he had discovered that he had been placed inside a large null field, effectively rendering his magical abilities useless. It was all around rather dismaying, especially since the book he had read on the subject had advised against prolonged exposure to such a field. He was, fortunately, given three square meals a day, plus a copious supply of water and a muggle-style toilet, which was relatively clean.

A year ago, or even two months ago, Harry probably would have gone stir crazy inside a locked room. Apart from reminding him of darker childhood days, it was simply all around boring, and, thus, by extension, maddening. He had always been the kind of person who liked to do things. He was a doer, not a thinker. He was a Gryffindor. However, things had changed for him somewhere in that space between now and then. Something fundamental, and he wasn't altogether sure whether it was a good thing or a bad thing. He felt different. It was as if a great pressure had been lifted from him, like a block that had always been there, stopping him, pushing him down, making everything harder, like thinking, acting, casting magic. It had been something that had been dogging him ever since that night he had heard the prophecy; a question that had been nagging him at the back of his mind. It was akin to the question, Can you use the killing curse to kill the Dark Lord? That question, of course, had been acutely answered that day in the hospital, when Harry Potter had tried to do exactly that, and, in that moment when the curse had failed, Harry had been hit with a strange sort of relief. It had hit home on some intellectual level that the dark arts were not going to destroy the dark arts master, that it didn't matter how good a dueller he became, or how many spells he knew, or how fast he was, or how good a perimeter charm he could erect, or whether he could enchant objects or cast difficult spells, like the killing curse. No, there was some deeper thing; some sort of other magic, unknown to others, some sort of wellspring of energy that called to him, that had always been calling to him, but which he had never been sensitive enough to touch. That is, until he lay there, the cold tile floor of the hospital sapping energy from his body, his senses all reaching out to feel his mother, to communicate his love, to let her love be communicated despite the vast chasm that separated them, the chasm that separated people of the living from the people of the dead. Now, he understood, and that understanding walked hand in hand with the knowledge that, to the organized mind, death was simply the next great adventure.

Shortly after the sticky St. Mungo's situation, Albus Dumbledore gathered together the inner circle of the Order of the Phoenix to discuss the very events that had transpired on that dark day. In the kitchen of Grimmauld Place sat a number of key people, all of whom had thoughts of one kind or another about the mysterious boy that had returned from the dead. Included in the meeting were the Weasley parents, Sirius Black, Severus Snape, Mad Eye Moody, Minerva McGonagall, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Emeline Vance, Hestia Jones, Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin. Many of them thought rather ill of the child, the Weasleys knowing sagely that no good could come of a parselmouth, Tonks knowing that no good could come of a cold-blooded killer, Remus Lupin knowing that any kid with that much attitude had to be bad. None of them, however, were out for as much blood as Sirius Black, who was positively murderous with rage. It had been his wife, everybody knew, that had been found murdered by the killing curse, evidence of exposure to the Cruciatus still plain to see, on that day.

"Now that everybody is here," said Albus in his infuriatingly calm voice, "I think that we should begin the meeting." The last of the Order members filed in and took seats around the magically expanded kitchen table, a charmed teapot bustling about the table filling everyone's cup and using a rudimentary legilimancy to anticipate what flavour each person would like.

Unlike most meetings, the current one was unusually quiet, mostly due to the somberness and the sobriety that Lily's death had brought to the table. Eventually, Albus cleared his throat and began, "First of all, I would like to make a few comments about a certain Order member who has been with us for a very long time. Eighteen years to be exact. Her courage and tenacity, her incredible willingness to love and fight for justice has earned her a special place in all our hearts. Two days ago, Lily Evans Black fell to the darkness while going about her shift at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies." Albus stopped and looked around the room, the twinkle in his eye gone, an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face; an expression mirrored by all the other members. "I have asked that you all be here today so that we can observe a moment of silence to remember her, to pay respect for the woman who brought light and comfort to so many people either directly by having known her, or indirectly by having fought this long and hard battle against the dark, so that so many others could remain safe." Albus fell silent, lowering his head slightly as an offer of remembrance, all the Order members following suit, with the exception of Snape, who merely rolled his eyes and quietly waited out the time period of one minute to expire.

Eventually, it did and Albus raised his head once more to continue speaking, "Surrounding Lily's death are key events that are of concern to the Order of the Phoenix, and I would like to turn to them now, and focus the main part of the discussion tonight on informing you of what some of the significances of these events may be and also to draw upon your expertise in making sense of them. First of all," he said, making sure to make eye contact with each of the members in turn, "It is well clear that Lily was murdered using the killing curse, and that, some time immediately preceding that event, she was placed under the Cruciatus for an undetermined length of time that was no less than about one minute."

Albus let the information sink in before he continued, knowing that some of his members had experienced that particular curse, and that even talking about it often brought back painful memories. Once satisfied that his members had recovered, he continued, "Harry Potter was found at the crime scene, his left arm ruined by what looked like a reductor curse, sitting next to Lily's body. Doctors indicated that he had fallen into a state of shock, most likely due to the blood loss from his arm. From there, he was immediately patched up, his arm re-grown and fully healed, and then he was arrested by aurors and promptly incarcerated, where he now remains, awaiting trial. The prevailing theory by the Ministry is that he crept into St. Mungo's to finish Voldemort's work from Halloween 1981, that Lily fought back, a battle ensuing that cost the lives of a number of patients and, ultimately, Lily's own. It appears that, during the duel, Harry's own wand was snapped in half, and that he, at some point, recovered Lily's wand and used the killing curse. Priori incantanum seems to confirm this hypothesis, as the last curse discharged from Lily's wand was the killing curse, and that the wand was found in Harry's possession."

"What are they doing with the boy?" Moody asked.

Albus nodded to Kingsley to take over the narrative.

Kingsley stood and cleared his throat. "Upon arrest, Harry was incarcerated in a maximum security detention cell deep within the Ministry building itself. Level five clearance is required just to be on the same floor as the prisoner, and he is guarded by multiple wards as well as constant surveillance. Given his history of wandless magic, he has also been ensconced in a null bubble with a radius of three metres. Upon arrival, he was stripped and checked for all types of weapons that may have been concealed on his body. We found a particularly dangerous dagger strapped to his leg. Signs of the basilisk were not present. The date for the trial has been set for March third."

"And how has he been faring?" Albus asked.

Kingsley cleared his throat once more before speaking. "The boy has been extremely quiet, as though he were meditating. He talks little to himself, demands nothing, does not speak to the guards that bring him his food. He is, altogether polite and unobtrusive."

"Those are the most dangerous ones," Moody growled, stamping his wooden leg on the ground for effect. "Can never be too careful with the likes of them. They're the ones that know how to get your guard down."

"Right," Albus said, nodding to both Kingsley and Moody and taking control of the floor once again. "That sums up the official side of the case. Now, I would like to move onto the unofficial side. There are a number of inconsistencies that appear to affect the war directly." Albus nodded for Severus Snape to take the floor.

"As many of you know, I have managed to resume my position within the inner circle over the last five years." Snape kept his gaze shifting from member to member, staunchly refusing to meet Moody's electric blue eye. "Two days ago, the very day of the attack at the hospital, at about the same time, I was afflicted with a peculiar pain in my arm, right where the Dark Mark rests. I have only felt this kind of pain once before. It was the last time the Dark Lord had fallen. Moreover, by the time the burning had passed, it became clear that the mark had disappeared. Since then, it has been no longer active, and, furthermore, I have communicated with other Death Eaters, who have reported experiencing a similar phenomenon."

At Snape's words, the room went from a mere silent to a dead quiet, all of the members looking wide-eyed at Snape and then at Albus. After a time, Mrs. Weasley spoke up tentatively. "Albus, dare we hope?"

"Indeed, Molly, I believe we do," Albus agreed, a slight twinkle returning to his eye. "In fact, Severus's information fits exactly with some of the less congruous elements of the Ministry's story regarding the battle at St. Mungo's."

"Less congruous elements?" Mr. Weasley echoed, clearly searching for an explanation, the daft look gone from his expression and replaced by one that told of a sharp mind.

"A third wand was recovered from the room, resting not ten feet from where Lily and young Mr. Potter were found."

"Who's?" Hestia asked, leaning forward, all of them held in suspense.

Albus said simply, "Voldemort's."

Pandemonium broke out amongst the members, all of them whispering either to one another or to themselves, some heads shaking, others nodding, trying to assimilate the new facts with the story they had already come to believe.

"So he was there," said Tonks quizzically.

"Obviously," answered Snape with a contemptuous tone.

Sirius, who had been oddly quiet during the entire proceeding, finally spoke up, his gaze holding the aged Headmasters, his voice seeming to ring with a quiet sort of intensity. "He's innocent, isn't he, Albus."

All mutterings stopped as the members waited for Albus to continue speaking. Albus continued to stare directly at Sirius, silently communicating some sort of communal sorrow, before saying, "Indeed, I believe he is."

Again, mutterings broke out, but this time, Albus raised a hand to quell them. "The Ministry is well aware of just exactly who's wand was there at the scene of the crime. However, they are disinclined to notify the public just yet, because they are not confident that Lord Voldemort is truly dead. You see, they are concerned that this may be like the last time, and they are not prepared to give false hope to the community. As such, they want a body, or, at least, some assurances from me personally before they concede that Lord Voldemort is dead. Until I do that, Harry Potter will not go free."

"So what are you waiting for?" someone asked, clearly not seeing why it is that Dumbledore wouldn't get the kid out.

"Because," Albus said, sighing and rubbing his temples, "Because I do not really believe that Lord Voldemort is gone. He may very well rise tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that. From what I have already learned, much of it stemming from Harry, he is virtually immortal until we can find the last horcrux."

"The boy said he knew where it was," Remus spoke up. "Of course he never told us."

"Makes you wonder, though," pondered Moody. "Maybe he wanted to make sure he was indispensable to us just in case he got in a spot of trouble. You know, leverage."

"Quite possibly," Albus agreed. "Still, we may very well find ourselves at his mercy, unless we can locate an unknown object of unknown quality and unknown location."

"Doesn't sound very easy," supplied McGonagall.

"No, it's not," agreed Albus. "However, I have already begun looking into Voldemort's early years and I do not believe it will be long now before I uncover some clue. Harry has already informed us that Voldemort will have selected objects that he thinks are befitting his own station. That alone narrows the search parameters dramatically."

"So you're just going to leave the child in prison?" Sirius asked, his brow furrowing at the idea that somebody would be locked up unjustly.

Albus responded in what sounded like a rather defeated tone, "You see, the problem is this. The Ministry is willing to overlook Harry's previous transgressions only on the condition that it can be shown that he unequivocally rid us of the Dark Lord once and for all. Only on that front will they give him a full pardon. Otherwise, he will be made to stand trial for his use of the Imperius curse, as well as the death of six aurors."

"Has he not spoken of the events?" Sirius asked. "Do we not have his testimony?"

Albus shook his head. "No. He has refused to speak, and he has sufficient control over his mind that he can block out mental probes, as well as forced memory extractions."

"And what of Veritassurum?" Snape asked, honestly curious. "Surely the Ministry is not pretending to be above its use."

"On the contrary," Albus responded, a tinge of frustration and humour in his voice. "Honestly, I do not have the foggiest clue where that boy comes from. Never in my entire life have I seen someone defy the power of veritassurum, and yet, there had sat one such boy, not even twenty years of age, telling me to - his exact words were - go fly a kite, Albus." Albus half-chuckled at the memory, still shaking his head.

"That's not possible," responded Snape severely. "There is no possible way to fight the effects of veritassurum. The Dark Lord had come close, having built up a tolerance to it over several years, so that he had the power to give evasive answers. Outright defiance is like fighting the imperius, only more so."

Albus did not respond to Severus's incredulity, mostly because he had no answer for the Potions Master. Instead, he merely shrugged, indicating that anyone's guess was as good as his. "At any rate," Albus said, moving on, "Harry does not appear to be interested in talking to anybody, whether it be regarding the events surrounding Lily's death or whether it be about anything else."

"He did just watch his mother die," Mrs. Weasley said tentatively. "It may be that, if he is truly innocent, if he were there protecting her, then he may simply be hurting too much to want to talk about anything to strangers."At Molly's words, Sirius's eyes seemed to light up. He leaned close, suddenly taking an interest in the affairs, and, with that same intensity, only now having gone from smoldering to burning he said to no one in particular, "I want to see him. I want to talk to Harry James Potter."

Minnie, Sylvia and Sirius Black walked through the empty halls of the Ministry Detention Center, their shoes clicking hollowly in the otherwise eerie silence. Minnie had been allowed to come only after an outrageous amount of begging and pleading, and, ultimately, a carte blanche from Dumbledore, who decided that a muggle could do no harm if let into the inner recesses of the Ministry, all the while, Sylvia shooting her dirty looks.

Abruptly, they came to a halt, darkness all around them, the once narrow hallway opening like a mouth into a wide rotunda lit by glowing blue and red lights that lined the walls. On the far side, the round chamber opened into a large cell, a jewel-toned translucent blue shield sealing off a lone figure, who sat idly, staring off into space, hands clasped neatly together.

"Harry," Minnie said, inexplicably saddened and brushing an errant tear from her cheek. "They've put you in a cage." It seemed wrong to her somehow, because he had always been a person of energy and contradictions, sometimes shy one moment, other times fierce and protective. Still, there was nothing she could do about it, and she knew it. She was a foreigner in a strange world, and at the mercy of all the people who inhabited it. They had stopped still twenty feet away from the edge of the cell, presumably to permit the guards to lower whatever additional protections warded Harry from freedom. Minnie took the time to scrutinize her two strange companions. Over the last several weeks, she had gotten to know them well enough; though the only one she could have claimed to have been close to was Lily. Sirius had always remained dispassionate and formal, and Sylvia had been downright antagonistic, not that Minnie held it against them. She was an intruder of sorts and her mere presence brought up painful memories of all kinds. No, she didn't begrudge them their feelings, knowing all too well how difficult feelings were to control. Sirius continued to bear that same expression of stoicism, only now with a slightly furrowed brow that suggested he were trying to puzzle something out, probably working through his demons, reconciling the image of the young boy before him with the death of his beloved wife.

Sylvia, on the other hand, wore an expression that Minnie had never seen her wear before. She looked lost, clinging unusually close to her father, practically hugging him as if to reassure herself that he wasn't going to leave her, her gaze flitting from the sight of Harry across the room to some place in the darkness, where she was trapped in her own memories.

She regrets not telling her mother she loved her one last time, Minnie thought with a sudden burst of insight. Of course, Minnie had been there during the multitude of fights that had broken out between mother and daughter, and could understand from her own distorted past just how complicated a death could be in the face of those kinds of histories.

Eventually, the wards were dropped and, presumably, Sirius was given some sort of signal to proceed, for he went forward, both Minnie and Sylvia knowing to stay behind, it having been prearranged amongst the three of them that they would speak to Harry individually. They all had their own crosses to bear; their own private words to say to the one who watched Lily Evans Black die.

After moving away from the two girls, Sirius Black stopped in the shadows, taking a moment to study the scrawny youth that sat in the spartan cell. He was not much to look at, Sirius had to admit. It was difficult to see where all the power lay, all the fortitude, the drive, the thing that permitted the boy to best ten trained aurors, and so much else, Sirius Black knowing only a tenth of it all. During the several days while the boy was harbored at Grimmauld Place, Sirius had tried to spend as little time as possible in his company, not even wanting to admit that he was disturbed by the combination of James's features and Lily's eyes, reminding him that it was the boy's death that had separated the two in the first place, that had allowed him to swoop in and pick up the pieces of Lily's shattered heart.

He stepped forward into the light and was surprised to see that the boy showed no emotion at the sight of him. Not fear, not concern, not curiosity, not even surprise. Just simple acknowledgement and then stoicism, and Sirius knew that he would have to be the one to break the silence first, for Harry never would, and that chilled him to the bone, for any person, whether it be child or adult, sodbuster or soldier, would have long since cracked under the interminable solitude and have been desperate for human contact.

"Hello, Harry," Sirius finally said, giving in and attracting the boy's attention, his gaze locking with his own.

Harry merely cocked his head in a questioning manner, a silent gesture that he was receptive to whatever Sirius Black had to say, but not overly concerned whether or not he said it. Who are you? he silently wondered. "I came here to talk to you, to maybe find out more about you. About that day."

Harry nodded and smiled a grandfatherly sort of smile before turning his gaze away, to some distant memory, his smile never wavering, his eyes taking on a hint of sadness. He spoke in a soft, measured tone, "She was amazing," Harry began, seeming content to not look at Sirius. "I watched her from the shadows for some time. She talked a lot to Mrs. Longbottom, fed her peas and mashed potatoes. I never imagined she could be so beautiful. There were so many things I'm glad I got to know about her. The photos never really did her any justice, you know; they never quite managed to capture the colour of her hair, the way it shines in the light, no matter how dim, the way it flows in smooth curls around her face, her eyes, her cheeks. They never told me how quickly she could go from happy to angry, how her emotions were always there, plain to see." He looked down, his brows furrowing in concentration, he working out his own puzzles and demons.

"What happened?" Sirius asked again, not even realizing that he had started holding his breath, no longer sure whether he even wanted to know, no longer sure what words were going to come out of the boy's mouth.

"She saved my life," Harry said quietly. "That's what happened." Harry looked up, and his war-roughened features creased into lines of remembered pain. "Voldemort came for me. It was because of me that he was there in the first place. He and I duelled for a bit." Harry now laughed, clearly finding something funny in his last statement. he smiled a bitter smile and shook his head. "I really thought I could take him. I really thought I could protect her, but in the end, she protected me. Just like she's always done. I know you want to know what happened, and I know you'll tell the Order about it, or, at least Albus. That's probably a good thing."

"I want to know because she was my wife!" Sirius cut in severely and not without a hint of indignation.

But Harry just waved his words away with one hand. "I didn't mean to say otherwise. But you will tell the Order. Hell, it's a good thing you do. They need to know, anyway, and I'd rather it be you."

"Me?" Sirius asked. "Why?"

"Never mind that," Harry replied, his expression turning serious, pensive even. He looked into Sirius's eyes and continued speaking. "Tell them she gave her life to protect me. Tell them, I didn't want her to, I tried everything to stop her, but she refused. She needed to, maybe. Maybe she couldn't lose me again, I don't know. But she fought tooth and nail - took the Cruciatus, even. Hell, I didn't think she'd even be able to walk after that; Christ, she didn't walk. She fucking crawled, Sirius. She crawled right into the path of the killing curse and took it for me. That's how she died, and her love protected me." Harry tapped the scar on his forehead and then repeated, "Her love protected me. It still protects me, to this day. It will always protect me, no matter what Voldemort does, no matter how much blood he takes. I understand that now." Harry leaned back against the wall and sighed, closing his eyes briefly as though it had taken him a lot to utter those few words.

Sirius merely stood motionless, his face betraying no emotion, his mind still trying to process all of Harry's words. It struck him as odd that all the labels people had for this curious boy, murderer, hero, renegade - none of them really did him any justice, because it seemed he was so much more than that. He was tired, for one thing, though it wasn't apparent by the look of him. No, it was in his words, telling of a long struggle, of a story that would break a mother's heart. He was hard like steel, as though the thing before Sirius, as scarred as he was, had been forged through the deepest fires of Hell, had been bathed in the blood of victims and criminals alike, and had come out weeping phoenix tears. And Sirius knew all of a sudden that Harry Potter was special; that no prison on earth could hold him if he chose to escape.

Sylvia didn't really know what it was she hoped to get out of her conversation with the strange, green-eyed boy. She wasn't even really sure why she had demanded to come see him, except that she felt a kinship with him, a kind of connection, as though only she could see who he really was. She also supposed that, maybe, just maybe, he would help her put to rest the pain and the misery that she felt in the wake of her mother's death.

"Hi," Harry said, surprising her by initiating the conversation.

"Hi," she replied quietly.

He continued, as though he had been the one to call her there, instead of her choosing to come on her own. "How are you holding up, Sylvia?"

She shrugged, not really knowing how she was doing, not having any words to express her feelings. "You?" she asked.

Harry seemed to give the question much thought before answering, and when he did, she found she was surprised by his words, mostly because they crystallized her own emotions. "I'm getting used to it, I think."

Sylvia nodded. "Yeah."

"It's okay if you blame me," he went on, casting his gaze downward to the concrete floor.

"I don't-" she began, but he cut her off.

"Someone has to."

A silence descended between them for a long time, Sylvia content to just look at him, study him like she did the creatures in her Care of Magical Creatures class.

"I lost someone close to me a couple of years ago," he explained. "A very close friend. Someone who could have been a father to me, someone who fought and died to protect me." Harry fell silent, and Sylvia wondered just how many demons Harry Potter had that he had learned to work through. "People told me it wasn't my fault, but I knew better. It was my fault, and it took a long time for me to learn that and more importantly, to learn to live with it. Pretending never helps anyone."

Sylvia nodded. "I fought with her a lot before she died. The last thing I told her was that she was a wretched mother and that I hated her. I think maybe I'm a little guilty too."

For the first time in the conversation, Harry smiled and looked up at Sylvia, locking gazes with her. "Yeah, I've said some pretty stupid things to the people who love me. Hurtful things." Still looking at her, holding her captive with her mother's eyes, he continued, "It's funny when you have parents. It doesn't matter what you say, or what you do. Their love for you just continues, never wavering."

"Yeah," Sylvia agreed, smiling too. "It is pretty amazing, isn't it?"

Harry nodded. "The most amazing thing. There's really nothing quite like it."

In that moment, Sylvia began to understand Harry Potter a little better. Just like her, he had regrets, longings, dreams and hopes, and that, in the aftermath of Lily's death, many of them had been shattered. Neither of them had a mother anymore, and Harry never really had one previously.

Harry had been surprised to see Minnie at his doorstep, and a little elated too. So she's safe, he thought, standing as she approached the thin blue barrier that separated them.

"Hi," she said in her soft, dulcet voice, a shy smile on her lips.

"Hi," he said, the sight of her taking his breath away. "You're safe."

Her smile widened. "So are you." Then, as if realizing what she had said, glanced around at the cell and then amended, "Er, well, sort of."

Harry laughed. "Yeah, sort of," he agreed. "No worries though. I'm quite confident that I am in good hands."

"They're going to persecute you," she countered. "I would hardly call that safe."

Harry just chuckled again, and said, his eyes twinkling, "I think you mean prosecute, Minnie."

"I know what I mean," she responded indignantly, stamping her foot petitely. "They're doing to you what they did to that German fellow in that movie I once saw called Crime of the Century."

"Er, yes," he agreed, not entirely sure what to make of Minnie's last statement. "I'm sure they are, but you need not fear. I have no intention of going gently into that good night, as Voldemort had so eloquently put it."

Minnie intertwined her fingers together and began nibbling on her lower lip, lost in thought, much like the way Harry remembered Hermione doing when she was trying to puzzle out facts inconsistent with a particular theory of hers.

"Come on, Minnie," Harry said, stepping a little closer to the barrier. "You need not hold back. What is it?" Harry's voice had dropped to a soft timbre.

"I miss you, Harry," she said, taking care to look directly into his eyes, hitting Harry with the force of her worry, her torrential emotions.

"Minnie...," Harry began.

"Don't you Minnie me," she cut in hotly, her silver eyes blazing. "Don't you dare Minnie me, Harry Potter."

In the wake of her words, a silence fell, and Harry felt inexplicably sad, though he wasn't entirely sure why. He supposed that the girl before him was his charge; he was responsible for her, was responsible for making sure she felt safe, and strangely enough, she seemed to know it, for the comfort of no other would do to alleviate her concerns.

Harry reached out one hand and pressed it against the barrier, ignoring the electrical shocks that were scalding his skin. "Minnie," he said, his voice softly carrying to her ears, soothing her. "Never you fret. I will always be here. Know that there is nothing on Earth that will do you harm so long as I draw breath, so help me God."

"I'm scared for you," she said in a whisper, coming close and putting her own hand up against the blue barrier, superimposing it on top of his. "I don't want to lose you too."

Harry felt a new emotion drifting off her, something unlike all the others she had ever radiated. It wasn't sexual so much, though there seemed to be an element of it in there. It had a deep, penetrating quality that was both full of anxiousness and also full of a rich warmth that seemed to bestow strength upon Harry.

Harry just smiled a warm, comforting smile.

"I don't want there to be this barrier between us," she said sorrowfully.

Harry discovered, to his own surprise, that he was prepared to do just about anything to appease the girl in front of him. It was as if he were being blasted with vila charm left, right and center, except, this time, he was fully in control of his body and his mind. Instead, it was a conscious decision that he truly was prepared to do anything within his power to put her at ease. And so, resolved to show her just what strength he had in him to protect her, he closed his eyes, relaxed his features as though he were meditating and then, after several long seconds, he re-opened his eyes, and to the surprise and horror of every Ministry official in the building, who was immediately alerted by the sound of alarm bells ringing, the blue barrier that protected the safe, innocent citizens of the wizarding world from the big bad devil that was Harry Potter, was no more. In a flash, Harry's hand was intertwined with Minnie, who was suddenly smiling a radiant, glowing smile that made Harry feel as if he could do anything in the world, which, of course, he very well could.

March 1st.

The dementors had returned to the Ministry shortly after Voldemort's fall, and, as such Harry found himself being escorted to the Ministry by two of them. It had been hoped by the higher ups that the dementors would break Harry by the time he got to the courtroom and would be in no condition to so much as raise a defense, which was so often the case with even the hardest of criminals, Bellatrix Lestrange being the lone exception. So it was decidedly unnerving when Harry merely smiled at the dementors and greeted them as if they were long lost puppies and fell easily into step with them, which made everything that much eerier, since dementors did not step but glide.

Coincidentally enough, Harry was escorted to the very same courtroom that was used to prosecute him prior to the start of his fifth year. It almost made him want to laugh, the thought of Umbridge and Fudge seeing him now, deranged Golden Boy extraordinaire being escorted his trial for multiple counts of murder and use of the unforgiveables.

There were a lot of people in attendance, ranging from Order members curious to witness the proceedings, to friends of Lily who were there to ensure that justice was done. It was a strange mix of purebloods and muggle-borns, of Ministry officials and healers and private individuals. To Harry's surprise, even aunt Petunia showed up, though Vernon and Dudley were absent, making Harry wonder if they even existed in this universe. Others in the crowd included Dumbledore himself, as well as the Minister, Cornelius Fudge, yes, indeed there was good old Dolores. Sirius, Sylvia and Minnie were all there also, which surprised Harry a little bit, since he wasn't sure whether Minnie was going to get in trouble for his little trick back in the detention center. Scanning the crowds, he also saw Lucius Malfoy present, and, to his chagrin, two familiar faces he was starting to think he would never see again.

"The wizarding world is a rather old fashioned place," Kittie mused, taking note of the many people who were milling about.

Mm," Marv agreed, sitting next to her. "True, true."

"I mean, if they just integrated themselves into the muggle world, took the time to learn about the many discoveries in the sciences, business art, etc. they would probably become a force to be reckoned with. Ten times what they are now, I reckon."

"It's not their way. It's not anybody's way, really," Marv said, considering the issue. "I mean, the muggle-borns would probably pitch such a thing, if they were given half a chance. As it stands, all the power rests with the purebloods, whether they be benevolent ones like Dumbledore or malevolent ones like Malfoy."

Kittie shrugged. "That may be true, but I have a hard time believing that nobody has even thought of the possibilities that could exist if you brought muggle technologies to bear. Muggles have built buildings that are a hundred stories high, not to mention regulated high speed traffic, mass production, so on and so forth. Think of warfare, for example. Could you imagine doing something like duplicating uranium for a nuclear bomb? Or shrinking it down to the size of a deck of cards? As fancy as the killing curse is, it's nothing compared to the magnitude of warfare in the muggle world. This Dark Lord doesn't really have the right way of things, if you ask me."

"I am completely with you. A magic shield would do very little against and other material objects, not to mention the fact that they can travel at ultra-high speeds, making them impossible to react to anyway. Don't forget that, while the Dark Lord may be open to these ideas, there's no way that his followers, most of whom are purebloods, would revolt if he tried outfitting them with bullet proof vests and other things."

"Bit silly, though," she said.

Marv shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. I mean, if purebloods raised the idea, if muggle-borns weren't socialized to keep the two worlds separate, then, quite frankly, it would be the muggle-borns who eventually take over, becoming the experts. They're the ones who have an intimate knowledge of the muggle world, after all. Not the purebloods."

"Then it should be the muggle-borns who are doing these things, taking up these ideas, possibly even building a whole new field of magic, or starting their own school, or something."

Marv smiled. It did actually sound like a good idea, and he could see, after having lived in the muggle world for so long, many of the amazing things, like lasers and radio waves and computers and what not, revolutionizing modern magical systems.

"It would probably go a long way towards breaking down the stereotypes and prejudices that purebloods have, possibly even transforming it into respect for muggles, for muggle ingenuity," Kittie continued, still pondering and processing all that she had seen in the last couple of weeks, since they had returned to the wizarding world. Once Kittie's training had been completed, or at least, as far as Marv could take her, they had gone to Godric's Hollow and lifted information regarding Harry's whereabouts from the minds of the inhabitants, discovering the events at the hospital, the trial, Harry's incarceration. From there, they moved towards developing a game plan.

"I love you," Marv whispered, the people who had taken a seat around the couple having gone silent as Ministry officials at the front of the room began speaking, listing out charges, introducing the major players. "You're so beautiful," he continued, not hearing the rest of the world, lost in Kittie's eyes, she lost in his.

"I love you too," she responded. "If the whole world disappeared, it's like I wouldn't care, so long as I have you."

He smiled. "Good. Then don't do anything foolish, because I really don't want to lose you either."

She smiled back and, with one gentle, loving hand, brushed his hot pink fedora off his head, and unpeeled the black moustache from his face, the glasses, the blonde wig, all of it coming off and clattering to the floor, the prosecutor at the front of the hall continuing to ramble on, oblivious to the events unfolding at the back of the courtroom.

Marv pulled away from Kittie and, in one fluid move, stood and walked out into the middle of the hall. "All right," he said in a clear, ringing tone, garnering the attention of all the courtroom's occupants, using that charisma which came so naturally to Lord Voldemort. "Everybody be cool, this is a robbery." And, again, using the same smooth grace bestowed upon him by God, Marv drew out a 92 series nine millimetre double-action semi-automatic beretta, loaded to the hilt with fifteen very deadly rounds and casually held it in one hand, his demeanor a combination of easy calm and collected deadliness. To all the muggle-borns, he was like a nightmare come true, all of them quite well aware that a person armed with a pistol was clearly very dangerous; especially when that person was a wizard. Out of the corner of Marv's eye, he could see that Albus Dumbledore was shocked, but not by the presence of the pistol, but by Marv's visage.

Kittie stood up as well now and came next to him, drawing out yet another pistol and, to go along with it, a machine gun. She fired one deafening report into the air, garnering everyone's attention and then, in a Bellatrix style, 'I twirl babies on bayonets, because I'm a total nutjob' sort of voice, she said, "ANY ONE OF YOU FUCKING PIGS MOVE, AND I'LL EXECUTE EVERY LAST MOTHERFUCKING ONE OF YOU!"

Together, the pair, armed to the hilt, cut a rather deadly sight. The purebloods, who were positively lost at the sight of the guns, were however, suddenly acutely aware of the now six foot long basilisk that was flowing out from Kittie's robes, its yellow eyes causing many of them to wet their pants in unrestrained terror. Bono was back with a vengeance.

"Now just one minute," Lucius Malfoy said shakily, getting to his feet, his cold grey eyes boring into Marv's, he clearly thinking he knew what was going on here. After all, this was his master in front of him, wasn't it?

Marv, however, did not bear the same sort of feelings, instead, looking upon Malfoy with the deepest loathing. As such, he simply pointed the pistol in his direction and fired one quick little round, which, in the blink of an eye, blew a hole clean through Malfoy's forehead, Marv demonstrating uncanny marksmanship, Malfoy's eyes rolling into the back of his head as blood and brains and bone fragments dribbled out of his skull, his body collapsing to the floor twitching for the last few moments of his fading life.

"Holy fuck!" a clerk said, gaping at the now fatally wounded pureblood millionaire. "It's like the killing curse only faster! And gorier! Where can I get me one of those?"

Minnie then rose to her feet and said, "Marv! Kittie! You're alive! Brilliant!" She clapped her hands together and issued a little excited squeal. "We're all together again!"

Before anyone else could react, Sylvia then jumped up and pointed a finger at the two bandits, her body slightly trembling with suppressed fear and fury. "YOU!" she exclaimed hotly. "It's you two! You said you were aurors! I thought you were going to arrest me! You snapped Amber's wand! What the hell?"

"Hey!" Sirius said, now standing up. "You told me Amber lost her wand! What's this about getting it snapped? You weren't running off to one of those muggle parties again, were you?"

"Er-," Sylvia began, suddenly uncertain of herself, "Er, right. I did tell you that, didn't I?"

Seeing that mass panic was about to ensue, Marv gave a tight nod to Kittie who, alongside Bono, combined their hyper-legilimantic powers to execute a dementor-class mental attack that effectively left all but a few of the courtroom's occupants sitting in their seats gibbering in terror. The prosecutor, Dolores Umbridge, who had been so imposing just minutes before, sank to her knees, tears leaking out of her eyes, whimpering, "Schmoopsie, schmoopsie, where are you?"

Bono slithered up to Harry, hissing, "Master Harry, look at what they have done to you," anguish evident in his voice. With one powerful flick of its now formidable tail, the basilisk smashed the chains that had bound the young prisoner, effectively freeing him. he rose to his feet, looking out at all the stunned people.

"Well, this is a surprise," he said, as though he hadn't just been put on trial for war crimes and crimes against humanity. Not to mention treason.

"Harry!" Kittie called. "Get over here! We're busting your ass out of this joint!"

"With pleasure," he said, coming up to them. "Christ, what took you guys so long?" Minnie joined them, giving Harry and Kittie and Marv hugs respectively. "I just knew it would all work out eventually," she gushed.

"Ahem," came Dumbledore's voice. All four humans and one basilisk turned to face Albus Dumbledore, most powerful wizard of his age, defeater of the Dark Lord Grindelwald, the only one You-Know-Who ever feared.

"Oh, crap," Harry said. "It's you."

"Indeed, it is me, Harry," replied the aged Headmaster. He glanced over to Lucius Malfoy and then back to Marv. "Interesting weapon you have there."

Marv twirled the beretta in his hand. "Isn't it though, Professor?"

"Good grief, Albus," Harry said, throwing his hands into the air. "Malfoy's a bloody Death Eater! Who gives a shit if he ain't in the union no more! Good riddance, I say."

"You're not really going to try and stop us, are you?" Marv asked incredulously. "Don't you ever stop meddling?"

"Meddling, Tom?" Albus asked curiously.

"Yeah, meddling," Marv continued, not bothering to correct Albus's use of his other name. "Don't you get it? It's not your fight anymore. It's Harry's, and mine. It was never your fight. You should have stopped after Grindelwald, retired."

"I beg to differ, Tom," Albus replied mildly.

"OF COURSE YOU WOULD!" Marv shouted, losing his cool for the first time that Harry and Minnie and Kittie had ever seen. "YOU JUST DON'T KNOW WHEN TO GIVE UP, DO YOU?"

"The light never gives up," Albus continued, now drawing his wand. "Now I am only going to ask you once. All four of you, stand down."

Marv seemed to reign in his emotions for his next words were spoken with a tightly controlled voice, the anger still apparent to anyone listening. "You sent me back there year after year, old man. I will never forgive you for that."

Albus looked infinitely sad at Marv's last statement, but he then shook his head. "It doesn't justify taking out your anger on innocent people."

"good," Marv said, smiling a cold, dangerous smile. "I'll just take it out on you then." He raised the pistol as Albus Dumbledore raised his wand.

However, before either of them could get into a firefight, Harry wandlessly summoned both their weapons, surprising both of them. "I'm afraid I can't let either of you get into this right now," Harry said, also shaking his head at the two. "Haven't enough people died already?"

"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, his voice turning steely. "Do you actually know who's standing next to you?"

Harry looked over at Marv, whose gaze had returned to Albus Dumbledore, his fathomless black eyes boring into the old man, trying to do to him what only a basilisk could do. There was a rage and an anguish so deep in those eyes, Harry felt he could lose himself in them forever. He had known for some time that Tom Marvolo Riddle's contempt for muggles had stemmed at least in part from his time at the orphanage, a time that must have seen many dark days, not unlike Harry's own at the hands of his so-called relatives. Ron and Hermione had been the best of friends to him; they had, for the most part, stuck through some of the most difficult parts of his life and he, Harry Potter, was proud to know them, to be called a friend by them. Still, they had not understood what it had been like to grow up alone; they had not understood the import of Sirius's alleged betrayal, his parenthood, his death, and, of course the eventual prophecy. Nothing in Harry's life could have been called truly stable. He had been like a piece of fluxweed, always changing from one day to the next, guided by the will of others, whether it be Lord Voldemort's or Dumbledore's. Not for the first time, Harry acutely felt the parallels between himself and Tom Marvolo Riddle, but, unlike all the previous times, where he tried to convince himself that those parallels meant nothing, this time, he felt a sort of kinship, an empathy for the young dark-haired boy that had learned to use magic to control others, to reclaim that which God and circumstance had stripped from him. They were both damaged goods. They were both battered and abused and emotional wrecks destined for greatness, the inner wreckage of their hearts beating to the pulse of their remembered pains, pains which fueled them to move onward, to accept their groundlessness. They were heroes; and they were demons. They were Gods and monsters.

"I know exactly who stands beside me, Albus," Harry said in a slow, measured tone, careful to select each word properly, knowing that, at least for himself, it was important to articulate his feelings, to let them be known for it was a momentous occasion for him, the acceptance of an epiphany. "He is my brother."

Both Marv and Kittie looked curiously over at Harry, the same silent question on their lips. Minnie, however, just smiled, as if she had known it all along and had simply been waiting for Harry to realize it and to announce it to the rest of the world.

"Then I am truly sorry for you, Harry," Albus Dumbledore said, his voice full of sincere pity.

Harry nodded, accepting his words. "As I am for you, Albus. You probably will never see us again." He gestured to the four humans and the basilisk. "I think, all things considered, it would be better that way."

Albus, being powerless to stop them, his wand still in Harry's hand, watched the four intrepid young heroes depart through the main doors, Bono following at their heels, giving all the occupants of the courtroom one last, penetrating stare, effectively knocking them unconscious.


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: Wow! My last chapter garnered five reviews, which is about 14 of the total number of reviews I've received to date. It's rather momentous, don't you think?

This chapter probably isn't long enough to really be called a chapter. Still, it doesn't really fit anywhere and so it's being posted on its own.

Disclaimer: Me no own nuthin'.

Chapter Twenty-Three

There's No Place Like Home

Luminaire.

This light spell is the cornerstone of ensuring the integrity of the Fidelius. Only half a dozen witches and wizards have been able to execute this spell between the time of Merlin and Albus Dumbledore. The spell has no incantation; there is no pedagogical tool with which to describe the spell or pass on knowledge as to its execution. Some have theorized that this spell requires some innate or intuited understanding of magic that is not available to magical folk generally, while other theories posit a secret conspiracy designed to keep select key players in positions of power. Regardless, we the authors regret to inform you that we cannot tell you much about the internal workings of this spell or describe any of its properties. Even in the absence of this spell, the Fidelius Charm is still a formidable layering of spells that, while not impregnable, can still properly defend an area or object from all but the most powerful of wizards and witches.

April 1st.

Reflecting on it all, Harry had had a pretty crazy time of things. Between Dark Lords and horcruxes and fringe worlds with multi-coloured skies, quarter giants and parallel dimensions; the end of the world and the Paris air, he had had little time to wonder about just what the hell was going on the wizarding world. The real one, or at least, the one he belonged to. Whatever else there was out there to find about, to explore, it would all have to wait. It was long overdue for him to return home, and, after a month of careful self-examination, he decided that he was quite ready to do that. It was time for him to take down the last two horcruxes, and, finally, Lord Voldemort himself.

Harry stood at the edge of a great precipice. The skies were clouded over with a thick layering of fluffy, white clouds, darker ones looming ominously out over the ocean. Winds were blowing about incessantly, causing his robes to billow behind him, his shirt sleeves fluttering about despondently. It was really cold, he decided, standing at the edge of that great cliff, the Atlantic spread out before him. Still, he didn't mind. There was something incredible about nature, about its vastness, and it made Harry acutely aware of the wrongness of Lord Voldemort's arrogance. We are all mere grains of sand in this universe, he mused. We are so little that we try to take more than we deserve, to find ourselves, to give ourselves comfort. Yet it would be better to simply acknowledge our place and learn from it, lest we overstep our bounds and destroy ourselves. His thoughts probably weren't the most profound things in the world, but he didn't mind. All he knew for certain was that those thoughts spoke to him on some deep, internal level; they were important to him, and that was enough.

Kittie sidled up next to him, eyeing him from the corner of her eye as she pretended to watch the waves crash down against the rocks below. A gull cried in the distance, its voice barely audible amidst the din of rustling grass and breaking waves. "We ready to go?" she asked.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I think we are."

Behind him, Marv and Minnie were packing a few belongings into the back of a Ford Anglia. For some strange reason, they had all decided to have a picnic near the cliffs of Dover. For each of them, it represented something different. For Minnie, it was a moment to enjoy their time together, just the four of them, like a timeout from the stresses they were all under. For Kittie and Marv, it was a way to feel closer to one another, like having a date. For Harry, it was a time to connect to himself and to the Earth, to the currents of magic riding the four winds.

Soon after, the quartet piled into the sedan, Marv driving, and they trundled away, leaving the peaceful tranquility of that solitary place to return to London, to the bustle of millions of people all working together in tenuous concert, keeping society running for as long as they could before entropy took hold and eventually eradicated them.

"Where to?" Minnie asked, resting her hand gently over top Harry's.

Harry gave Minnie a comforting smile and replied, "To Olivander's. There's something I need to pick up."

The return home was surprisingly uneventful, which seemed strange to Harry, since he had expected his return to be among one of the most difficult parts of his adventure abroad. After all, it hardly seemed that inter-dimensional travel was common enough for them to find books about it. Presumably, Tom had spent decades amassing enough financial power to research the subject so that he could properly make the trip. As it happened, however, the ability to return home was far easier than the ability to leave home, since they were already an aberration, since they already possessed a signature of the old world that would guide them back.

Except, of course, it wasn't all of them returning, as Harry soon discovered.

Standing outside the phone booth entrance to the Ministry, the four intrepid heroes kept together, the warm spring sun contrasting with the chill breeze, the taste of exhaust in the air, the clutter of humans and noises assaulting their other senses. Kittie kept her hands in her windbreaker and was pressed up against Marv, who kept one arm around her waist. Minnie seemed somewhat at a loss, eyeing the happy couple from time to time, with a look that Harry could only describe as wistful. He himself was leaned casually against the phone booth, taking in the sounds and smells of the streets, for once having the time to relax and pay attention to his surroundings.

"I guess I didn't really think about it all that much," Harry admitted, a serious expression on his face. "I mean, yeah, I knew I had to kill you, but..." He trailed off, not quite sure how he was supposed to finish that statement. Six months ago, he probably could have done it, albeit reluctantly, but, now, after all they had been through, it was downright inconceivable. He could no more kill Marv than he could kill Ronald Weasley, or Hermione Granger.

"So what then?" Kittie asked, clearly disturbed by the whole conversation. "If we stay, then you don't have to kill him?"

Marv nodded. "That's pretty much what I'm saying. Tom must have understood that the bonds that tie souls together will not survive between dimensions. The threshold will cut it like a magical scythe."

"Which means I never really killed Tom," Harry finished, sighing. "I knew it would be too easy."

"But you don't really have to worry about him anymore," Marv said, shrugging. "It doesn't matter now."

"Yeah, now, maybe. But what if he returns? The last thing I need is to be putting the finishing touches on Voldemort and having him show up." Harry scowled at the thought of having a horcrux reappear uninvited.

"It's doubtful," Marv said. "He's too smart to screw up his chances at a new life. Besides, you smashed the receptacle, which means he would probably be assimilated back into Voldemort's body or be annihilated upon re-entry."

"You're just making that up," Harry accused.

Marv merely smiled. "Pretty much."

Harry blew out a long sigh and fixed his gaze to a medley of teens that were running afoul the notice-me-nots and turning away, slightly confused expressions on their faces. How he wished for a brief moment that he too could just wander away with nothing more than a slight headache, never to know about the complexities of war and horcruxes and Dark Lords. But, just as quickly as that thought came, it went, replaced by the visions of all the people who died for him, not the least of which was his mother, who, in addition to him having memories of her echoing screams, now had a face, an image, a scene, set in an isolated hospital ward, half-demolished by a gruesome battle between himself and Lord Voldemort.

"And you're going to stay here with him," Harry said, turning to Kittie, his voice betraying no emotion.

She merely nodded, silently scuffing the tips of her shoes against the cement.

Of course she is, Harry thought. They love each other. "And you?" Harry asked, turning to Minnie. "Where do you fit in all this?"

For a moment, Minnie looked helpless, like a deer caught in the headlights, but, with all three gazing at her expectantly, wondering what her decision would be, she resolved to be firm about her decision, to have strength. She said, "I'm returning to help you fight your war, Harry." And then, with less certainty, she added, "If you'll have me, of course."

There was something unmistakably pleading in her eyes that Harry couldn't quite identify. He supposed it was longing; the need to attach herself to somebody, her desire to have a sense of place, a sense of love and belonging in what was otherwise a rather cold world. Harry suddenly found himself the object of Marv and Kittie's intense scrutiny, both of them curious as to what Harry's decision would be, both of them silently pushing him to take Minnie with him, to make her happy, to fulfill that role that Jack had once filled. Harry, who, a year ago, would have balked at the idea or, at least, felt a little bit uncomfortable by it, felt oddly touched that someone needed him the way she did. Shrugging, he said, "Yeah, sure. Just try to duck and find cover the second spells start flying, all right?"

Minnie smiled beatifically and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly and half-laughing, half-weeping into his neck, saying, "Thank you, thank you! I promise I won't be a burden and I won't disappoint you!"

"Er, right," Harry said, tentatively extracting her from his neck, partly in the hopes of returning the blood flow to his head. "We've made it this far together, we can do it a bit more. No worries."

Minnie let herself be extracted and then pressed herself into Harry's torso, as if making to disappear, causing Harry to instinctively put his arm around her shoulders, effectively mirroring Kittie's and Marv's stance.

"Right, well you two lovebirds best be getting on your way, then," Kittie said, smirking. Minnie just smiled, and Harry stuck his tongue out at her.

"Oh that's mature," Kittie said in a derisive tone, and then promptly stuck her tongue out at Harry.

"And to think I actually dated you," Harry said, and they both burst into laughter, Marv and Minnie still smiling.

"Ugh, you were always so tense," Kittie said, scowling as she remembered that time. "It's like nobody'd ever really given you a chance to breathe."

"I don't think anyone really ever did," he agreed, wandlessly conjuring a cup of hot chocolate for himself and for the others, who gladly caught their respective cups out of mid-air as they floated gently toward them.

"That is soooo cool," Minnie said. "Are you sure you can't teach me to do that?"

Harry shrugged. "Never say never. Why don't we look into it when we get back. I wouldn't be surprised if there's some dark arts blood magic transfer type stuff around."

"Marv nodded, confirming Harry's words. "There is, but it has side effects. I doubt you could give her more than the most rudimentary of magical abilities. Probably no more than seeing the Leaky Cauldron and weathering notice-me-nots and the like. That is, without severely changing her both mentally and physically. Changes which would seriously not be for the better."

Harry too nodded, accepting Marv's words. "Yeah, well, I wasn't too invested in the idea. Just figured I wouldn't shut it down outright."

"Of course, of course," Marv agreed. "You're welcome to look into it."

"So this is it then," Kittie said, looking between Marv and Harry.

"Yeah," Harry said. "I suppose we'd better get going. No sense prolonging the inevitable."

"I'm going to miss you," Kittie said, moving forward and giving Harry a long hug. "Both of you," she amended, turning to Minnie and doing the same. "If it weren't for you, Harry, Marv and I may never have gotten together."

Harry smiled a comforting smile and merely said, "Glad I could help. You take care of yourself and have a bit of fun. See the sights, don't get into too much trouble."

"I won't," she said, still smiling, her eyes wet with unshed tears. "I'd say the same for you, but it would be a bit hollow, wouldn't it."

"Just a bit, yeah," Harry agreed. "Still, the sentiment's appreciated." Harry then turned to Marv and said. "Well, good luck with it all then. Keep her safe and all that."

"I will," Marv agreed, shaking Harry's hand. "I'm glad I got to know you, Harry."

"Likewise." The two soldiers stared into each other's eyes for a long time before looking away, a silent communication about loyalty and trust passing between them. Marv then did something incredibly unexpected and drew out a locket on a silver chain from underneath his shirt, pulled it up over his head and gave it to Harry.

"Here," he said, handing it over. "When you get back, smash it to smithereens."

Harry took the locket with great delicacy, surprised by the gesture. "You said you weren't sure about that whole inter-dimensional disconnection thing. What if destroying this in turn destroys you?"

"Then I'll know I died for a good cause," he said, shrugging, both of them aware of Kittie out of the periphery of their vision. "We've already discussed it," Marv added, gently squeezing Kittie's shoulders in reassurance. "Neither of us would want me to survive if it meant letting the monster that killed your parents roam free."

"Thank you," Harry said gratefully, placing the locket around his own neck and tucking it underneath his shirt. "I can't tell you how much that means to me."

"It's okay, we know," Kittie said softly. "Sometimes, you wear your heart on your sleeve, Harry Potter."

Minnie and Harry finished exchanging their good-byes and then, just the two of them, descended the lift to the Ministry atrium, Harry dialing the number for magic.

"State your name and business," came the pleasant female Ministry voice.

Harry just said, "Harry Potter and Minnie-" He looked questioningly over at the blonde attached to his arm, who just shrugged. "That's all I got."

"Er, well," he continued, "Harry Potter and Minnie. We're here to blow this pop stand."

Two badges came out, stating their names. HARRY AND MINNIE POTTER, INTER-DIMENSIONAL TRAVELLERS.

"Bloody legilimans," he muttered as they disappeared into the world of magic once again.

"So we're sure this thing's going to take us back?" Minnie asked, eyeing the creepy looking arch-thing.

"That or we'll find ourselves being shredded like mozzarella cheese," Harry replied, shrugging and stepping forward, not knowing that he uttered the same phrase Marv had done when following after Harry through Tom's portal the previous summer.

Minnie joined him, and, despite the sounds of aurors telling them to halt, having finally twigged into the unlawful entry, they continued forward, walking hand-in-hand into the veil. Harry was finally coming home.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

Return of the One

April 3rd.

Everything seemed so different from when he had last been there. It was a strange feeling, to say the least. Harry was currently walking along the downtown streets of Little Whinging, the buildings spreading their long shadows in the early dusk light, the traffic minimal on that lazy, Sunday evening. He had been walking for some time, as it were, though he couldn't quite articulate why. There were so many things to do, including one last stop at the Dursleys, a stop which, truth be told, he had rather ambivalent feelings about. He knew it would be the last time he ever saw the three people who, by all accounts, had made his childhood miserable, if he chose to see them at all. he had no doubt he could have crept into their home unknown and extracted his belongings without them ever being the wiser. It was on that subject that he was now dwelling, and it was eating him up inside, mostly because he felt, somewhat irrationally, that the Dursleys were holding him back from seeking out Ron and Ginny and Hermione.

It seemed like such a small event, after everything that he had already faced and against the backdrop of his immediate future. Do I say good-bye to them? Harry stopped and leaned idly against a concrete building, staring unseeingly off into the distance, the glow of the setting sun making his emerald eyes glisten with untold power. It was a scene not unlike his last venture out in the Little Whinging playpark where he had gone to reflect on his life last summer.

If you try to say good-bye, they will just reject you, he thought. You will simply be setting yourself up for hurt, Potter. It will do neither you nor any of them any good, except perhaps to let them indulge in whatever pleasures they derived from your abuse. And, quite frankly, you may simply end up hexing them. But that was the crux, wasn't it? He would win either way. They could either show some remorse, and, for some inexplicable reason, he would lap it up like an ever-faithful terrier, or they could do what they'd done for the last sixteen years, in which case they would unwittingly incite his anger, to their extreme detriment. On the other hand, he could silently slip in and out under the cover of night and be done with them for good, never having given them an opportunity to say good-bye, never having given them the chance to atone, to apologize, to explain, even. If you hex them, or if you leave them without giving them that chance to be civil, to show kindness, then it will eat you up inside, one way or another. He wasn't quite sure why it would eat him up; that was just one of the many questions bothering him. Why should I care? He didn't know why it was that he cared, but he did know that he did.

You're overanalyzing, Potter, he told himself, and with that, the old resolve that often took hold in times of crisis stole over him, darkening his normally shining eyes to a forest green, making them fathomless depths that drew in the weak-minded and crushed them under an intangible and omnipresent pressure. Again, that untold power.

Night fell and Harry, erecting silencing wards and repulsion wards around his room, floated himself casually up to his bedroom window, vanishing the glass and deftly maneuvering himself through so that he landed silently on the wood floors, a silencing ward flowing from his body, dampening all sounds as he moved. Unsurprisingly, his things had been stripped away, all vestiges of his old life replaced by a vast assortment of Dudley's castoffs, which included an inordinate amount of what looked like rather expensive electronic equipment. Harry expanded his awareness to the rest of the house, detecting all three of his relatives exactly where they were supposed to be - in their bedrooms. His senses could tell that they were all relatively motionless and that they were horizontal, suggesting sleep. Harry immediately relaxed his perimeter senses and made his way to the main floor, where he went to the cupboard under the stairs. The locks were still there, which didn't surprise him in the least. He could already feel the familiar tingle of his invisibility cloak and his firebolt. He vanished the door and the locks, leaving rather ugly looking holes in the wall where the locks had been drilled in, and then packed, shrank and stowed away all his old belongings. Later he would rifle through them and pick and choose which things to keep and which things to discard. For now, he was simply content to have them in his possession, using his magical sense to identify all the items of value to him.

When He returned to the second floor and then to his bedroom, extracting the few key possessions from beneath the floor boards, swiftly vanishing some moldy old pies that the Weasley matriarch had sent him, he noticed a familiar friend perched on the window sill.

"Hedwig," he said softly, coming close, a smile gracing his lips. "Hey girl."

Hedwig seemed to bore into him with her yellow eyes, as if willing to communicate some deep message, which, oddly enough, Harry seemed to understand. After waiting several seconds in contemplation, Harry spoke in what could only be described as a resigned tone. "I suppose cuffing me on the ear just doesn't cut it this time, eh girl?" Hedwig remained motionless, continuing to scrutinize him with her unblinking gaze. "Would it help if I told you I was whisked away to an alternate dimension, hung out with a fragment of the Dark Lord and a pretty girl named Kittie, met my parents, ran afoul a giant acromantula not named Aragog and ate five whole jalapenos on a dare?" Okay, now Hedwig blinked. In rapid succession, in fact, as if trying to process Harry's words and deciding whether she was being led on. Deciding it probably wasn't worth the effort to reprimand her charge, she hooted softly to acknowledge his feeble apology and then flew to his shoulder where she came to rest, cuffing him on the ear in the process. Harry let out a beatific smile and said, "You know, I don't think I ever told you how important you are to me, and I think I should have. Hedwig, I love you, girl." Harry took a moment to stroke her soft feathers, tickling her at the base of the neck in the way he knew she always liked it.

A distinctly female voice made a deliberate coughing sound from the room's entrance, effectively startling Harry from his focus on Hedwig. Harry whirled around with deadly speed, his wand suddenly in hand, his eyes piercing the dark gloom for the intruder. Upon realizing that it was his aunt, he relaxed marginally, still keeping his wand in hand and staring at her with his expression schooled into neutrality. He was surprised to see her standing there, obviously cold from the draught blowing in through the open window and cutting through her thin, summer nightgown. He hadn't expected that anyone would be up, and if they had been, they certainly shouldn't have bothered coming to his former bedroom; especially since he had kept a sound dampening field in operation all around him. It had only been by virtue of the fact that his focus on Hedwig let his perimeter charms falter that she had managed to get so close to him unaware. Give them nothing, he told himself ruthlessly. You've come too far to let yourself be hurt by them now. "Yes?" he asked in as cold a tone as possible.

"You're back," she said flatly, her face a mask of sternness, her eyes seeming to bore into his as though she were trying to use legilimancy.

"That's rather perceptive of you," he responded stiffly, trying to lace his words with as much venom as possible, and not quite succeeding.

"Your friends thought you were dead," she went on. "They interrogated us for a long time and then memory charmed my husband and son. They also erected some sort of alarm system in case you ever returned. It has alerted me to you."

Ah, so that was it, he mused. His presence had triggered a ward of some kind, probably set by an Order member no doubt, and it had dragged his aunt from her bed to investigate. He should have known somebody would do that.

"And?" Harry asked, quirking an eyebrow. "You're telling me because?"

Silence followed Harry's last question, though he was not surprised. It wasn't the kind of question that was meant to be answered anyway, and it clearly revealed his own hostility toward the woman standing before him. He wondered if perhaps she were simply too groggy to grow indignant at his lack of respect for the person who kept him safe all those years, the person who made sure there was clothes on his back, food in his stomach, etc. etc.

Finally, she said, "Did you get all your things? You won't be leaving behind any of that... that unnaturalness, will you? We kept it safe, just in case you really did return."

Harry didn't bother dignifying her question with a response. Instead, he continued trying to sink his teeth into her, to inject her with his venom. "Is there a reason we're talking to one another, aunt Petunia? In a moment I will be gone and you will never see me again."

His aunt suddenly seemed visibly strained by something, as though she were trying to cope with a great cognitive dissonance, or trying to formulate a statement that would balance a complex of conflicting emotions. Finally, she settled on, "Aren't you the least bit grateful that we took you in?" The question nearly floored Harry. The apparent sincerity and honest curiosity in her tone made Harry want to either laugh or cry, or some mix of the two; it made him want to yell at her, to knock some sense into her of all people - his mother's sister. In some ways, Harry could understand uncle Vernon, who, to Harry, was just a big oaf that liked to bully people and think of his own interests before others. He could even excuse his fat pig of a cousin, Dudley, who was brought up to be hateful and self-indulgent. But Petunia - what was her excuse? She had the same parents Lily did; she was Lily's sister.

"Didn't you love her at all?" Harry countered, genuine wondering in his own tone. "My God, aunt Petunia, she was your sister. Your sister, for God's sake. You two grew up together, under the same house, with the same parents, sharing the same toys and clothes and talking to one another day in and day out. You hated her just because of magic? Was it so horrible that you hated her?"

"You don't understand anything," she said, her voice now laced with venom, the old Petunia of the last sixteen years showing through.

"You never explained it to me!" Harry hissed back. "What's the big secret? Did she bully you? Push you around, hex you and embarrass you in front of your friends and parents, aunt Petunia? Were you jealous of her? Did magic take her away from you? Is it ungodly? Are you going to throw some religious 'magic's the devil' crap' at me? What? What is it?"

"There is no secret! None!" she responded, her voice rising in volume. "Don't you get it, boy! There was no big secret! I hated her, I always have. I don't even know why!" At this last statement, something in Petunia seemed to visibly snap, because her face went from taut and strained to slack and lined. Tears began pouring out, and she staggered backward until her back was pressed against the wall, whereupon she slowly slid down to the floor, tears still coming, her broken sobs punctuating the deflating tension in the room. "I don't know anything anymore. I don't know why I hated her, or where it all came from. I loved Lily. She was my sister, Goddammit. Why would I hate her?" Petunia broke down into an uncontrollable fit of muffled sobs, her face pressed into her shoulder so that she was unable to speak. She just lay there, in a crumpled, broken heap, tearstains turning her nightgown wet. "I don't know, I don't know," she kept saying whenever she found she had enough breath to speak. "God, I don't know."

The old awkwardness and uncertainty that used to grip him when confronted with crying women did not seem to present itself at this time; even despite the fact that this was his aunt, one of his torturers during those long dark days in his cupboard. Instead, Harry went to her and knelt down and held her, letting her tears fall onto him, letting her bury her demons in his shoulder, letting him carry yet another weight, another torch for another life ruined. They stayed like that for a long time, long enough that Harry's body became cramped and Petunia managed to fall asleep, snoring at an obnoxious volume right into his ear. Harry cast a temporary silencing spell on her and levitated her to the master bedroom, where he laid her next to his uncle Vernon. He had no idea if they slept holding one another in the kind of couple's embrace that told of warmth and compassion, or if they kept apart, preferring to have their own four corners of the bed. He decided to go with the latter, to be safe. For a long time, Harry stood in the shadows, watching his aunt sleep, the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, not wanting to let the moment go, not wanting to cut himself from the last people he could have truly called family. In the end, however, it had to be done, and Harry left 4 Privet Drive once and for all, permitting its inhabitants to return to pure normalcy for the first time in sixteen years.

"So now where?" Minnie asked, Harry having just retrieved her from the Little Whinging playpark, Bono glancing up at the sound of his arrival.

"To tell you the truth," Harry said, flopping down on a bench and looking around at the deep gloom that signalled the imminent arrival of dawn. "I haven't the foggiest clue."

"Oh," she said, taking a seat next to him and sitting quietly and primly, waiting for him to move from there.

"S'pose we should head over to the Weasleys," he said finally, breaking the silence. And with that, he had Minnie stand next to him and Bono curl around his feet and, with a swish of his new holly and phoenix feather wand, compliments of Mr. Olivander, Diagon alley, London, England, Earth, Alternate Reality, they disappeared with a slight sucking and popping sound, only to reappear seconds later at the foot of the short walkway leading up to the Weasley ancestral home. Except, of course, that there wasn't one.

"What the fuck?" Harry asked aloud, staring at the ruin for several seconds before tentatively walking amongst the various piles of debris. Again, he repeated, mostly for the sake of emphasis. "What. The. Fuck." Where the Weasley ancestral home should have been lay nothing more than a pile of rubble, bits of stone and plaster and wood, much of it scorched by the liberal use of dark spellfire. The only thing remotely recognizable was the fireplace, strangely enough, and a few tattered pictures, Weasleys smiling and waving from them, oblivious to the plight that their home and, quite possibly, their family, would suffer in the future.

So it has come to this then, he thought grimly, fingering his wand in anticipation of cursing the Death Eaters who did this to his friends.

Minnie, seeing Harry's distress, stepped close to him and put a hand on his arm, gently tugging him away from the wreckage silently communicating empathy for the loss his friends have suffered during his absence. Harry let himself be pulled, his mind percolating, trying to figure out what the next course of action should be. Eventually, he decided upon Diagon alley, since it would be the best place to gather information, as well as take a firsthand look at the state of wizarding Britain, not to mention he could pop by the twins' joke shop.

"Maybe we should go to that Diagon place," Minnie offered, unknowingly echoing Harry's own thoughts.

His gaze still fixed on the remains of the house, his mind drifting through the numerous memories of warmth and comfort and the hustle and bustle of the large family that had taken him in, fussed over him, cared for him, sent him jumpers, made him an honorary Weasley, he just said in a quiet, strained voice, "Yeah. Yeah, let's do that."

And so, with a pop, they disappeared from Ottery St. Catchpole and reappeared at the entrance to the alley. Harry wasn't the least bit surprised when he walked onto the main street to see that a death gloom had settled like fresh snow over the street and all its shops, many of which were now boarded up. To his dismay, the Weasley shop had also been shut down, which meant he had no meaningful way of finding them.

Bono spoke up for the first time that day, poking his disillusioned head out from underneath Harry's robes, where he was tightly curled around Harry's torso. "This place looks different."

"Yeah, it does," Harry agreed, still scanning the mostly deserted streets for signs of people he knew. Hell, he would even take a Slytherin at that point, just needing to get a handle on the events that had transpired over the last eight months.

"Your friends aren't here?" Minnie asked concerned, her brow furrowing as she looked from shop to shop, wondering which one belonged to the infamous twins.

"Nope," he confirmed, deciding to continue walking down the street and survey the shops that were open. It occurred to him that the only shops to remain open would probably be the ones that had fallen under the Death Eaters' rule.

"Funny, it wasn't this bad in the other world," Minnie mused. "I wonder what the difference is."

I wonder that too, he thought, idly picking up a discarded copy of the Daily Prophet and scanning the headlines. Scrawled at the top read: RUFUS SCRIMGEOUR INSTITUTES MARSHALL LAW.

Bloody hell, he thought, quickly reading through the article. Azkaban destroyed, massacres, gang wars, factions, splinter groups, underground movements, resistances of all kinds, in-fighting. "The muggle death toll has risen to over three thousand," states one Ministry official. "Currently, we estimate that there are at least half a dozen underground movements against You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters, not to mention the myriad of supporters that have risen up for the pureblood cause since the destruction of Azkaban, where You-Know-Who came to make a show of his power..."

Disgusted by what he was reading, Harry threw the paper back atop the pile discarded papers and other knickknacks and let out a long sigh. Well, this is all rather buggered up, he thought, taking Minnie's hand and resolutely making his way along the alley, noting which shops had been shut down and which weren't. Eventually, he came to the London-side entrance and, without hesitation, opened the archway and walked through, intent on securing a room and having a chat with Tom, assuming the place was still in operation. Thankfully, it was, and Harry could only assume that the Leaky Cauldron was just too critical to the wizarding world to simply be rendered inoperable - by either side, whether it be the Dark Lord or the Ministry.

The moment Harry stepped through, all conversation ceased, and Harry mentally winced, berating himself for having forgotten to alter critical elements of his appearance. All eyes fell on the young adult and his most attractive muggle companion, who, under the scrutiny of the numerous patrons frequenting the pub, retreated behind her protector, having been all too acquainted with their magical abilities. Not much you can do about it now, short of a mass memory charm, he thought, and, further driven by his resolve, went to the bar and said to Tom, "A room please."

Tom's eyes immediately flicked over to Minnie and then he asked with a raised eyebrow, "One room or two?"

"One, please," Harry responded without hesitation, surprising both Minnie and Tom, who eventually just shrugged and handed Harry a key.

As he turned away to head up the stairs, he heard Tom say, "It's good to have you back, Mr. Potter."

Harry glanced over his shoulder at the barkeep and nodded and said, "It's good to be back, Tom." Harry then went to the stairs, but, before climbing up, he turned to the barkeep and said in a clear voice for all the patrons to hear, "If anyone comes looking for me, be sure to send them up to my room."

"Anyone?" Tom asked, sounding surprised.

Harry nodded, confirming his words. "Indeed, Tom. Anyone."

Taking Minnie along, the pair found their room at the end of the hall and, once inside, Harry obliterated the feeble protection wards and the various wards that prevented witches and wizards from making alterations to their room. With another stroke of his wand, he erected a giant, hollowed out null field, and then, he hit the room's many objects with chameleon transfigurations, and then added several additional wards, including perimeter charms, transparency walls and reinforced steel along the door frame and outer walls and the floor, all the while, Minnie watching in awe as Harry managed to, in under two minutes flat, create one of the safest rooms in all of Britain.

All she could say was, "Wow," to which Harry just smiled a knowing smile and said, "Come on, let's get some rest." With another swish of his wand, both of their clothes had been transfigured into nightwear and they collapsed on the bed, which Harry magically expanded from a standard double to a king-sized.

The pair snuggled up together, wrapping each other in their arms, sharing warmth and comfort and memories of long days past, beating away the interminable solitude that was ever-present, always searching, always encroaching upon them.

It took less than an hour for the whole of wizarding Britain to be alerted to the fact that Harry Potter, who many had thought dead or held in captivity, had returned. For some, especially children, it meant that hope had returned to Britain as well.

For the Dark Lord, however, it was a matter of minor irritation. He did not know where the boy had gone, and, frankly, he did not care. Reports of him bringing back a muggle floozy did even less to impress the most feared wizard on Earth. As such, he acted accordingly.

"Yes, master," said Wormtail, kneeling before his Lord and kissing the hem of his robes. "You have called me."

"Indeed, I have, Wormtail," replied Lord Voldemort. "It has come to my attention that the supposed Chosen One has returned."

Wormtail nodded. "so I have heard. Would you like me to go dispatch him for you? Or would you rather I bring him here."

"Neither," said Lord Voldemort, absently stroking Nagini's head. "No, you forget that you bear a life debt to Mr. Potter. It would not do to have you confront him directly. It may lead to... unpredictable results."

"Of course, my Lord."

"No, instead, I would rather you go and watch. I will send my soldiers against the boy when the time is ready. For now, I would simply like to see where he goes. It may prove worthwhile."

"I understand," said Wormtail, lowering his head in submission once more. "As you command." With not another word, Wormtail stood and strode from Lord Voldemort's chambers, the Dark Lord content to ponder on other things.

"So what now?" Minnie asked, her face awash with morning cloudlight, the both of them sitting together in their room sipping on tea and eating scones.

"There's one key item I have to procure and dispose of before I seek a confrontation with Lord Voldemort."

"Ooh, this is one of those soul bits, isn't it? Like Marv," she said instantly, excited to know something about Harry's very important business.

He nodded. "Yes, it is."

"And what sort of object is it this time?"

"It's an orb," he said, leaning back and wandlessly vanishing the crumbs off his tray.

"An orb?" Minnie asked, furrowing her brow. "Like one of Lynda's crystal balls?"

Harry smiled. "Precisely. Only this is no ordinary orb. This is the grand pooba of orbs." He glanced out the window at the rain that was threatening to fall, occasional mists and drizzles waxing and waning like tremors before the quake. "This is the Orb of Merlin."

Sounds fancy," Minnie said, futilely trying to wish her crumbs away the way Harry seemed to be able to do.

"I think maybe I'll leave you here for a day or two while I go retrieve it," Harry went on. "It probably wouldn't do to have you about, as it will be rather dangerous."

"No!" she exclaimed, her attention riveting itself to Harry. "Don't you dare! You're so not leaving me out of this, Harry James Potter!"

The vehemence with which she spoke startled Harry, and he took direct notice of her for the first time, watching the lines around her eyes form as she concentrated fixedly on him. They engaged in a momentary staring contest, and Harry found himself looking away after a mere minute, sighing and then relenting. "All right," he said, knowing that it was bloody reckless to have her along. "You can come."

Minnie's expression transformed from stern to elated instantly as she broke out into a large smile. "See? That wasn't so hard." And with that, she stood and flounced off to the bathroom to clean herself up and prepare for their little adventure. Harry just sighed again, thinking that it would be a really long day.

All told the Orb of Merlin was a rather easy object to retrieve. Harry and Minnie apparated to a lighthouse near the northernmost port in England, climbed the steps, disabled multiple wards, including null fields, which Harry seemed to have a special affinity with. In the end, it was Bono who retrieved the object, using his considerable magical prowess and lithe form to slip between two evisceration wards and, with a heavy thump of his now formidable tail, sent the delicate ball flying in Harry's direction, who easily caught it in one hand. Inferi seemed to sprout out of the woodwork at Harry's handling of the orb, causing Minnie to scream in fright and almost flee into the warded space. However, Harry managed to immobilize her wandlessly and, remembering all too well his ineptitude back in the cave the night of Dumbledore's death, intoned, "Inflammus." A beam of fire shot out of his wand, and, like Dumbledore on that same night, Harry bent the flames to his will, forming a large ring with it that encased himself and Minnie and Bono. The nearest one shrieked as her skin was lit aflame by the magical fire, and Harry had a moment of sorrow for these dead bodies that had been so unjustly used by the Dark Lord, her body already partly rotted away, one eye missing and the other one rolling about aimlessly in her eye socket and not really looking like an eye at all but more like a balled up cheese omelet. The others all backed away to the four corners of the room, but Harry didn't cut them any slack. He pressed the ring of fire outward until it touched every single inferi, lighting them up and causing them to run around in circles until they dropped dead. One of them, a young boy with greying hair and no lips had the presence of mind to charge Harry, despite the flames. However, he hit Harry's null field and collapsed to the ground a pile of burning mess of bones and blood and flesh and bile, the charms animating it having effectively been dissipated.

"You okay?" Harry asked, pulling Minnie close, trying to divert her attention from the sight of the burning corpses. "I'm sorry," Harry said finally, seeing that she had been deeply disturbed by them, her gaze suggesting that she was still trying to reconcile what she saw with her understanding of the world. "I shouldn't have brought you here."

"Who would do such a thing?" Minnie asked, though her question seemed to be to no one, and Harry did not respond. In truth, he couldn't quite imagine who would, even though he understood intimately the kind of tunnel-vision that one had to have in order to exclude all other considerations from their mind in the pursuit of their goal; in this case, power.

"Let's go," he said, pulling her gently away from the carnage.

From there, Minnie and Harry and Bono ascended to the top of the lighthouse, both of them awed at the beautiful sight that mother nature permitted to exist in their world. For miles upon miles, they could see the waves thrumming forward, rolling towards land, each ripple in them visible through the clear air, gulls crying, the sun peeking out as it descended on the horizon, lighting up clouds and the sky in a brilliant rainbow of reds and oranges and yellows, filling the otherwise cool blue and grey sky with an untold warmth.

The wind was strong up there and chilled Minnie despite the otherwise warm day, and Harry, feeling that perhaps casting a spell wasn't right at that moment, feeling that they were on the cusp of feeling a magic altogether unlike anything he learned at Hogwarts, elected not to use a warming charm and instead pulled Minnie close and lifted up the collar of her spring jacket to protect her neck. Bono curled up around Harry's torso as he had grown used to doing and watched as well, Harry wondering momentarily if the basilisk saw the world differently from the way humans saw it.

After a long time of standing, long after their legs had grown numb by the running breeze, Harry made a sudden motion, pitching the orb into the distance, his innate magic carrying it along the winds of the Atlantic. It seemed to hang in the sky for a moment longer than what gravity would normally allow, its iridescent surface lit aflame around the edges by the deepening golden backdrop. And then, suddenly, as if a force were pushing it down, it plummeted towards the water below, the rapid shift in altitude upsetting its volatile contents, causing the orb to shatter into innumerable fine grains of glass that disappeared into the roiling ocean, the mercurial liquid inside aerosolizing and diffusing into oblivion.

"There's that, Harry thought, his mind and body unusually relaxed. With the orb gone, there was only one more horcrux to destroy before Voldemort himself. The end is nigh, he realized as he and Minnie stood before the setting sun, the horizon turning into a dark line crested with gold and scarlet. The thought seemed both comforting and sad. For a long time, he had never really considered what his future would look like. He had once entertained some vague notion of becoming an auror, but, looking back at his danger-ridden life, looking back at all the horrors and traumas, the intensities of battle and love and friendships tested, he realized that he couldn't go on to do that. He couldn't go on to be a dark wizard hunter like Tonks and Shacklebolt, pushing paper from time to time, for the Ministry, sometimes watching over the guards, spending his life waiting for the next Dark Lord to rise up. He couldn't play Quidditch either, though he knew he was good for a career in it, being both a celebrity and damn good at the sport. No, it wasn't the lifestyle he wanted; he didn't want the empty glory it offered. So what then? his mind mused.

He glanced over at Minnie, her expression one of peaceful contentment, her face soft and lineless, showing that she was in a state of tranquility. It hit him that what he wanted was the same thing she wanted: retirement. He wanted time away from it all; time to do the little things, like maybe tend to a garden, build a place he could call home, fix himself to the ground for the first time, learn to take comfort in the stability of a new life. A life he would forge slowly and surely, like his parents did, only this time it would be free of the rising dark. He knew then he wanted to do it some place quiet, most likely on an acreage, or a farm or some sort of countryside property where he could be away from the magical world. Possibly even a suburban muggle neighbourhood; not unlike Privet Drive, though preferably with more sincere and honest, down-to-Earth residents.

For others, like Ron and Ginny and his schoolmates, the war was something new and foreign. It only started two years ago formally when the return of Lord Voldemort had been announced, and it only hit home last year with the invasion of Hogwarts. For them, it was a nasty hurdle a bump in the road to get over so they could continue planning the lives they began planning when they first came to Hogwarts. For Harry though, the war had been his life, ever since he had come out of his cupboard when he was eleven, he had been bred for this war. First, it was through the stories that people told him, and then it was through the realization that the world would not treat him the same as his peers, and, eventually, it was his enemies who sought to break him, and, finally, it was Fate herself, who had charged Harry with the task of ridding the world of the Dark Lord.

Yes, he realized, the gnawing feeling of uncertainty finally taking shape, Harry finally understanding what it was he was feeling - that his time was coming to an end. It's just taken you awhile to realize that, he thought. You've never really been that quick on the draw, no offense. Maybe one day you'll come back. After it's all over. One day, two or three years from now, you'll step out the front door and let your feet take you somewhere, and maybe you'll find yourself on another fool's adventure, crusading through graveyards and other worlds and acromantula dens and through the arms of friends and enemies. Or maybe you'll find yourself taking a back seat and giving guidance to the next generation of sodbusters and ranchers and wandering gunslingers.

"You ready to go?" Harry asked, looking down at Minnie's form, marvelling at how well she seemed to fit against him.

She just nodded and snuggled closer.

"Hold on then," he said, turning slightly and taking her in both his arms so that her head was pillowed against his chest, his fingers laced together and pressing into the small of her back, holding her tight against him. Silently, they disapparated, the wind passing through where they stood just moments before, filling the spaces between, leaving no trace of their presence.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

Razorback

Harry Potter was not a person to be trifled with.

About four seconds after Harry and Minnie returned from the destruction of Merlin's Orb, Harry's heightened magical sense alerted him to the presence of another magical being near his room. Casually glancing around the hall, he saw no particular indication of a being. However, between superlative magical, sensory, and legilimantic perimeter charms, Harry quickly surmised that the being in question was extremely small, was currently hiding in a crevice near his door and was radiating a whole lot of anxiety. To Harry, it all told a story of a certain rat.

So, with a casual wave of his wand, which he drew with lightning speed, he summoned the creature as he opened the door to his room, not even bothering to look its way as it flew past him, squeaking in surprised terror as it thudded softly against the far wall, the flab on its abdomen cushioning its fall. Harry calmly locked the door and asked that Minnie take a seat at the bed and remain there; she, naturally obliged, eyeing the rat curiously.

"Transform, Peter," Harry instructed, a hint of weariness in his voice. Mostly he just wanted a bath, even though he had been expecting some sort of a welcoming party after his display of bravado the day before. He had actually expected something a lot more... confrontational, which made Harry wonder what kind of information the Dark Lord was looking for by spying on Harry. Certainly he would never send Wormtail to confront Harry head on in light of the life debt, and Harry highly doubted that the life debt was something Wormtail would have been able to occlude from Voldemort's legilimancy probes.

Wormtail's feelings of anxiety slowly transmuted to fear as he watched Harry from the floor, still trying to pretend to be a rat.

Good grief, Harry thought. What kind of an idiot are you? Then, in a tone that brook no argument, Harry said, "Wormtail, I can see your hand. Transform now, or I will be forced to torture you." In truth, Harry supposed he could have forced the transformation, much like Remus and Sirius had done back in his third year, but he was feeling distinctly uncharitable to the one who betrayed his parents. Worse, he was feeling somewhat insulted that the man wouldn't even show himself, either thinking he was protected in his rat form, or thinking that Harry would be so stupid as to let his guard down.

Still, Wormtail did not transform, which caused Harry to simply shrug. "Suit yourself," he muttered before saying, "Crucio." The little grey rat's eyes positively bulged out of its head at the sight of the amber light that approached. Clearly, Pettigrew did not believe that Harry would dispense such a virulent curse upon his enemy. The spell hit the little rat, who promptly began writhing on the floor, flailing its pudgy little arms and squeaking in a manner most unbecoming of a rat. After about half a minute, Harry lifted the curse and politely invited the Death Eater to transform, which, after a few moments to collect himself, he did, eliciting a muffled gasp from Minnie, who hadn't really been able to quite follow the one-sided conversation that Harry was having with the mangy rodent.

Peter was still shuddering from the effects of the Cruciatus, but Harry spared him little time to recover. "Who sent you?" he asked, curious as to whether the rat referred to Voldemort as the Dark Lord or as You-Know-Who.

Peter did not respond, instead continuing to shake.

Harry's sensory perimeter charm was so refined that he could tell from it that Peter's shaking had turned from erratic to rhythmic, suggesting to Harry that he was indeed now faking it, again in an attempt to lure Harry into a false sense of security. Harry blew out a long sigh as he made a show of looking around the room, lowering his wand slightly to give Wormtail a perceived opportunity to pounce, which, he in fact took.

Silently, Wormtail jumped to his feet and, in a fluid motion, extracted his wand and sent two powerful stunners at Harry, confident that one would vaporize his shield and the second would hit him dead on. As they crossed the short space between the two apparent duellers, Wormtail saw to his delight that Harry was neither moving nor raising a shield, and only briefly stopped to consider how odd that was, since he remembered the boy having better reflexes than that. So, it was decidedly unnerving to the Death Eater animagus when one stunner fizzled out and disappeared halfway to Harry and the other was simply blocked by Harry's hand.

"I see there's really no reasoning with you, is there?" Harry asked sadly, and then, as if coming out of a daze, he shook his head. "I had hoped, you being the last Marauder and all... Ah well, never mind that." Harry flicked his wand and immediately Wormtail was bound with barbed wire and gagged with a naked Malibu Barbie doll stuffed between his clenched teeth, which the Death Eater promptly spat out.

"You'll never get me to talk, Harry. I'm sorry." Wormtail's resolve seemed rather sincere, making Harry laugh.

"Funny you should show such loyalty to him," Harry mused, levitating the doll and stuffing it back into Wormtail's mouth, despite the Death Eater's vehement protestations. "The thing is, you need not say a word for me to extract all the information I need. After which I'll most likely kill you." Harry applied a sticking charm to the doll so that Wormtail couldn't spit it out again, and then he proceeded to incant, just for good measure, "Legilimans."

The spell connected with Wormtail head on, and Harry found himself delving through the myriad of memories of what was a rather feebly protected mind. Executing a legilimantic assault that Snape would have been envious of, Harry brutally rummaged through his memories and eviscerated his mind's defenses in the process, swiftly and efficiently extracting all the pertinent information regarding Voldemort's plans that had occurred since Wormtail met the Dark Lord in that forest so long ago. When he was done, he exited cleanly and smoothly, leaving Wormtail dazed and, more importantly, realizing for the first time the true power of the Boy-Who-Lived. His head still fuzzy from the attack, Wormtail's eyes merely expressed the question, Who are you?

But Harry wasn't really paying attention. He was quickly assimilating the information he had extracted, cataloguing and prioritizing and planning. "Interesting," he muttered. "So the Dark Lord uses extreme mental trauma to undo memory charms. I didn't know you could do that. Unfortunately, a particularly powerful charm tends to turn the victim's mind to mush. Bertha Jorkins." Harry turned to Wormtail and, after staring at him for a long time, all the while thinking, he finally shrugged, and said, "What the hell. Why not?" He knew it probably wasn't the most strategically advantageous move he could make. Still, it seemed like fun, and he felt he deserved a bit of that; especially since it seemed like the most fitting end for the traitor.

"I've decided not to kill you," Harry said, effecting a conciliatory smile.

You're not? Wormtail's eyes seemed to say, a rather disbelieving and yet naively hopeful expression on his face.

"I'm many things, Wormtail, but a liar is not one of them." Harry walked right up to the traitor and knelt so that he was at eye level, his face just inches from the man that betrayed his parents. "Let me tell you instead what I plan to do. I plan to memory charm you with the most powerful memory charm on Earth, and then I'm going to send you to your master under the imperius. Of course he'll recognize signs of the unforgiveable instantly and I'm willing to bet the first thing he'll do is check you over by rifling through your memory. Tell me, do you know what he's going to find?"

Wormtail shook his head, but the expression of dawning horror told Harry he understood it wasn't going to be anything good.

Harry merely continued, "He's going to find that memory charm, and he's going to wonder just what the hell is locked away in it." Harry now smiled a cold, cruel, Marv-esque smile, before saying, "And we know what he does to undo memory charms, don't we?"

Ah, Wormtail began to understand, as was evidenced by the rapid fire shaking of his head.

"Relax, you're going to give yourself whiplash." Harry then hit Wormtail with the immobilization charm before looking directly into his eyes and saying in a stern tone that dripped with unrestrained power. "Lord Voldemort, listen well. If you are seeing this memory, then you have clearly mutilated one of your servants. An act for which I am eternally grateful to you for. I trust you understand just what place in my heart I hold this particular piece of vermin. Ergo, I thank you. I also want to let you know that I am coming for you. You've been warned." Harry then stood and walked away from Wormtail until he was a good five feet from him. He then turned around, and, using that same controlled voice and focus that made him eerily like Albus Dumbledore, he said aloud, "Obliviate." White light crackled from his wand and hit Wormtail's still body, Harry letting a torrent of energy flow from his body, his mind focusing the magic to wipe out all Wormtail's memories from his capture up to the present. When Harry was satisfied, he ended the spell, Wormtail looking that much more dazed than before, at which point Harry said, "You found you couldn't get into the room and so you waited and then left, when I didn't return after a day." Satisfied with the flimsy excuse that Harry knew Voldemort totally wouldn't buy, Harry then pointed his wand at Wormtail yet again and said, "Imperio." Now under the curse, Harry merely sent him on his way, instructing Peter to transform into the rat and sending him out the door and into the darkness beyond. Back to his master.

Harry then proceeded to flop down on the bed, stretching out his arms and back and letting the waves of fatigue from the day's exertions wash over him. Peripherally, he was aware that Minnie was eyeing him intently, and he could feel a bit of unease coming from her. "You okay?" he asked, still keeping his eyes closed as he enjoyed the moment of tranquility.

For a minute, Harry wondered if she weren't going to respond, if perhaps she were too deeply ensconced in whatever thought she was having, but then she did speak and it surprised him. "You're scary," she said quietly, looking down as if ashamed, or possibly fearful of attracting his wrath.

Harry, feeling like this might be an important subject, turned over on his side and looked up at her. He adopted a more serious expression to show that he was intent on having a meaningful discussion. "Go on," he commanded.

"I don't know," she replied instantly, keeping her gaze averted, her fingers idly picking at a stray thread on the duvet. Harry reached over and laid his hand down on top of hers and said in as soothing a tone as he could muster, "It's okay to be afraid of someone with a lot of power. Fear is a natural response, you know. A lot of people were afraid of my old school headmaster. There was this one person - her name was Bellatrix Lestrange. She positively wet herself when he walked into the room." At that image, Minnie cracked a smile.

"that's funny," she said, and then her smile dissipated and she asked in a more serious tone. "Were you afraid of him too?"

Harry considered that question. Had he ever been afraid of Dumbledore? No, not really, he supposed, though at the end of his fourth year, he recognized that Dumbledore deserved the praise and respect people gave him. He was rather formidable. "I think I was more in awe of him. It was like, yeah I knew he had all this power, but I also trusted him a lot too. He was bad to my enemies, but he was kind to me."

"Weren't you ever afraid that maybe he might see you as an enemy? What if you ever pissed him off, you know?" There was something in the tone of her voice that told Harry this question seemed to be really important to her, and Harry wondered momentarily what in her experiences, her memories, urged her to ask.

"I think that part of trusting people is having that sort of faith that they wouldn't hurt you. I suppose I learned over the years what it took to be an enemy, to piss him off, and I knew I would never do or be any of those things," Harry said carefully.

"It's like a contract," Minnie said, also choosing her words with great deliberateness.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, thinking that the analogy sounded good. "It's like a contract."

"And he never broke it."

"He never did," Harry said, and then, upon further reflection decided that he'd probably violated a few minor terms during fifth year, but decided that these weren't terribly important to bring up, since his relationship with Albus had always been rather complicated.

"Can we have a contract, Harry?" she asked, now looking up at him for the first time. Harry knew that this was really important to her.

He merely nodded.

"Good," she said.

"So what kind of terms do you want?" Harry asked, thinking he already knew.

"I don't want you to hurt me," she replied. "Ever. I don't want to be afraid of you."

"Okay," he said slowly. "I can do that. I promise I won't hurt you."

"Okay," she agreed, seeming to take him at his word.

"And what kind of terms do I get to impose upon you?" he asked in a playful tone, attempting to break the sobriety that had descended upon them.

Minnie, however, either did not notice or simply ignored his jest and replied in the same, uncharacteristically serious voice, "I'll do anything."

"Anything?" Harry repeated, surprised, his mind flitting through a myriad of the most bizarre things he could think of. What kind of term is that? he wondered idly.

"yeah, anything," she agreed, still not acknowledging the incredulity that was in his tone.

Eventually, he said, 'Okay. Anything it is."

With that issue laid to rest, both of them crawled into bed, still in their day clothes, and quickly fell asleep, not even bothering with dinner. In the morning, Harry would conjure them a crazy huge meal with eggs benedict, bacon, pancakes and pureed fruit and toast and cottage cheese, oatmeal, apples, oranges and papaya, along with a sampling of nuts, including cashews, almonds and walnuts.

Three hours after Wormtail's return, two and a half of which were spent torturing Wormtail into insanity, Lord Voldemort finally broke the memory charm that had been placed upon him. What he found did not please him. No, sir, it did not please him one bit. The boy had cast the cruciatus and the imperius within five minutes of one another, and he talked as though he were perfectly comfortable casting the killing curse. That alone didn't bother him. It was more that his estimation of Harry didn't jive with the memories he was seeing. So contradictory was it, that Voldemort gave serious thought to the notion that the person who tortured Wormtail was not Harry Potter but somebody under a glamour or polyjuice. Still, Harry's parting words spoke so acutely of Wormtail's treachery, that whoever it was would have to have been working in concert with the brat. Worse yet, Lord Voldemort had taken the time to peruse Wormtail's memories of his attempts to penetrate Potter's room. That coupled with the few images he received, indicated that somebody rather powerful had warded that room. Somebody ludicrously powerful in fact.

Unless the memories he saw weren't real. After having turned Wormtail's mind to mush, leaving the broken rat animagus gibbering on the floor, tears and blood leaking out of his eyes as he continued to convulse from the after effects of prolonged cruciatus exposure, among other things - there was just no way he could discern a real memory from a fake one.

Nagini looked up into her master's eyes and hissed, "The simplest explanation is most often the correct one. You may have to assume that the boy has developed extraordinary abilities."

"Quite right," said Lord Voldemort, still looking off into space. "Still, I cannot help but wonder. I must at least keep all possibilities open, lest I lose focus. Wormtail had great value to me. It is regrettable that I have lost him this way." He then cast the imperius on the man and sent him to go crawl into a corner and remain unobtrusive.

Lord Voldemort, listen well. If you are seeing this memory, then you have clearly mutilated one of your servants. An act for which I am eternally grateful to you for. I trust you understand just what place in my heart I hold this particular piece of vermin. Ergo, I thank you. I also want to let you know that I am coming for you. You've been warned.

Harry's words played over and over in the Dark Lord's mind, he turning them over as though it were a puzzle that was meant to be solved. I am coming for you. You have been warned. Normally, he would have dismissed the words as mere bravado, especially when they were coming from Harry Potter, who by Snape's account was a quintessential Gryffindor. Still, the brat had spoken them as though it were a certainty that they would meet, as though he were confident he knew where to find him. Lord Voldemort, put to unrest by those words, opted to go personally check on the wards that guarded Technoparc, if for no other reason than for his own peace of mind.

Hermione was really angry. She had been for some time - ever since the fiasco at Crabbe Manor, after which she had been carried off by Azrael, who had been too weak to do anything more than hobble along, often coughing up blood as he dragged her unconscious body to a place of sanctuary where she could recuperate. That night was supposed to be her grand opening, her debut concert. It was supposed to go off without a hitch, and it would have, if Ronald Weasley had not gotten in her way.

Ronald Weasley. Still, after nearly three months of quiet contemplation, she still could not get over the irony of it all. How could a Quidditch-obsessed, blundering twit of a wizard, whose organizing principle throughout his academic career could be characterized by the one word, "mediocrity" - how could that person have stood up against her, against all her superior skills and intellects, transformations and achievements. How is it that fate allowed him to even be there? Pah, it wasn't fair. It wasn't bloody fair at all; not one bit.

Hermione kicked a dead rabbit out of her way as she stomped around the forest, murdering anything that caught her attention. Oh sure, she'd been patched up all right. Azrael's blood had phenomenal healing qualities, much like phoenix tears. Her arm was as good as new, her range of motion was perfect, her hair and eyes and skin remained toned and flawless. Her hair had not reverted to that accursed bushiness that had always plagued her. Despite all that, something deep within her had been wounded. Something that couldn't be healed.

I'll show them, she thought fiercely, her teeth clenched together in her wild rage. I'll show them all.

Grabbing her things, she took off for Technoparc, Azrael in tow, bent on proving once and for all that she was the biggest and the baddest on the block.

Ron and Sue were quietly having a game of chess in the Huffelpuff common room, both of them subtly trying to shade their eyes from the garishly yellow walls. Apparently it was a Jackson Pollock nouveau art thing that a Huffelpuff had adopted in the late seventies, and, as a testament to their continuing solidarity, Huffelpuffs for generations elected to keep it despite the fact that it was a significant contributing factor to the myopia that plagued many graduates of the house.

"Check," Sue said, her eyes riveted to the board, her gaze searing the offending squares that Ron had slowly been taking. They were into their third hour of play, the Gryffindor resident chess master playing the Ravenclaw resident chess master. Neither of them were prepared to budge an inch, both prepared to play well into the night if need be. Stamina, after all, was just another part of the game.

"Get a clock," Terry muttered as he passed by, the scent of his new cologne indicating that he was heading out to see Katie. Neither of the players noticed.

As he opened the common room exit to head out, he was shoved rudely aside by Neville Longbottom, who had apparently been standing around outside trying to remember the password, and who was currently barging into the room to find Ron. "There you are!" he exclaimed, having to come right up to the chess game and whack Ron on the head to get his attention.

"Hey!" he exclaimed. "What the hell!"

"Big news," he said, his cheeks still stained red from his mad dash between the potions laboratory and the Ravenclaw tower. "Harry's back." Those two words seemed to have a profound effect on Ron, who jumped to his feet so fast he knocked the board over, sending the few remaining pieces tumbling to the side screaming in fright from what they apparently regarded as a travesty of justice. Sue was too gobsmacked to speak, but whether it was from the annihilation of their match, or from the news that Harry had returned, no one knew.

"Where? How? Who?" Ron asked, his elation subsuming him.

"Susan just came back from Diagon Alley," Neville explained, already leading Ron out the portrait hole, Sue in hot pursuit.

"Where are you guys going?" she asked, puffing as she tried to keep up with their long strides.

"The war room," Ron said absently. "We need to plan."

"For what?" she pressed, but this time, Ron did not reply. Instead, he motioned for Neville to continue telling his story.

"Yeah, so Susan said she heard from the owner of Flourish & Blots that he's back. Apparently he made a big show of it at the Leaky Cauldron and is staying there right now, as we speak. Susan even went over there and checked it with Tom, the barkeep. Apparently he's got some muggle girl with him."

"Muggle girl?" Ron asked sharply, his mind reconfiguring the possible theories he had of Harry's whereabouts to incorporate this new detail.

Neville nodded. "Yes, that's what Tom told her."

They reached the room and went inside, Ron shuffling together some papers and standing near a detailed map of Diagon Alley, tapping it with his wand so that he could zoom in on it and see the Leaky Cauldron. The map functioned much like the Marauder's Map, only it also made indications of localized magical signatures, including dark curses and enchanted objects. Like the time turner, it had been instrumental in tracking the movements of Death Eaters, often times revealing patterns in their behaviour.

"What are you looking for?" Sue asked, still not understanding the importance that Harry's presence made to the war effort. Sure, he was a good friend of the Commander, but he was hardly anything to brag about, in terms of skill.

"He's not showing up," Ron said irritably. "Are you sure he's really there? Maybe it's some sort of trick."

"It's possible they've stepped out," said Susan, approaching from behind.

"Of course it is," Ron said, "but that doesn't really concern us here. The map can collapse time frames and show everybody who passed through a region. Look, there he is."

Sure enough, a dot labelled Harry Potter appeared on the map and a line tracing his path from the main floor Diagon Alley entrance to the upper level formed itself, moving towards the far room on the upstairs. The line was faint, showing that it was from at least a day ago, though what was peculiar about it was that it stopped right at the threshold of his room. From there, it simply disappeared, as though Harry had simply disapparated on the spot before going inside, taking the unknown companion with him, whose dot was simply labelled "Minnie".

"Perhaps they found something wrong with the room," Neville muttered. "Maybe they had to beat a hasty retreat."

"It's rather quick for the Dark Lord to mount an attack. Look." Ron pointed to the appearance of Peter Pettigrew scurrying up the step, his line a little darker than Harry's. "He came afterwards," Ron said, puzzling out the situation. "and you can see here, Harry must have apparated in at some point because his line gets darker near his room, as though it has been refreshed. He's probably not bothered making an appearance down on the main floor, knowing what a ruckus his presence causes. Wormtail follows him into the room, and they both disappear."

"What does it mean?" Neville asked.

"He must have set up some sort of anti-tracking field," Ron mused. "It's blocking out our map."

"Not possible," Susan interjected, shaking her head. "The map sees through anti-tracking defenses. At least, all the ones we know of."

Sue scrunched up her face in a look of consternation. "well, technically, there's one that I can think of, though it's not an anti-tracking spell at all."

"What's that?" Ron asked, still looking at the map, searching for any other clues that could tell him something useful.

"Look," Neville said, expanding the map to zoom in on the corridor. "Wormtail seems to leave the room shortly after, and his line is stained red."

"Dark curse," Ron muttered. "What the heck does that mean?"

"Harry cursed him," Susan said, surprised. "Something nasty, it looks like."

"Wish we could see inside that room. Sue?" Ron asked, prompting her to pick up where she left off.

"It's a long shot," she prefaced. "Hell, after six months, we still can't even produce one stable enough to last for more than a few seconds. There's just no way he could do it. It's amazingly advanced and complex and requires mental focus, command of magic, magical power-"

"Out with it," Ron cut in impatiently. "This is Harry we're talking about. He's known for doing the impossible, remember? Patronus at thirteen?"

Sue sighed. "All right, all right. It could be a null field. Still it wouldn't last for more than a few minutes, unless he affixed it to an object, which is just plain crazy. I mean, I don't even know if you can do that."

"What's a null field?" Susan asked, perplexed by the idea.

"It's a field you generate by sucking the magic out of a region of space," Sue explained. "More importantly, you continue sucking magic out of the region so that any magic that enters the targeted area will immediately be diffused to all the edges, effectively shattering the magic, and thus nullifying it."

"How's that possible?" Susan continued, clearly mystified by the process.

"Magic is known as a bipolar force, because it is made of two counteracting forces that have the tendency to repel one another. Much like magnets. The null field is generated by creating a thin layer of magic around the targeted region that is oriented so that it draws all the magic of one polarity to the edges, thereby continually sucking all the magic from the region. The attraction from multiple directions tends to cause concentrated magic such as a spell to break apart and diffuse to all directions."

"Uh huh," Susan said, her face still scrunched up as she tried to understand what her comrade was talking about. "Bipolar?"

"Does that work on the unforgiveables?" Neville asked, more curious about its capabilities than its underlying theory.

"No," Ron replied instantly, turning away from the map and sighing, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Unless of course it were affixed to an object, like you're suggesting," Sue said. "It would be a rather formidable ward."

"Except that we can't produce one," Neville concluded.

"Right."

Susan, seeing that Ron was still focused on the Harry issue, re-directed the conversation to focus back on that. "Commander, what is so important about Harry?"

Ron looked up to the expectant faces of his three soldiers. "What do you mean?" he asked, feigning innocence.

They exchanged looks with one another, and, silently, they agreed that it should be Neville who spoke up. Tentatively, he began, "From the very start of this war, you've been bent on focusing our attention on stripping away the Dark Lord's forces. That's fine and all. Hell, it's more than fine. It makes a damned good bit of sense, but, well, we've always wondered why it is that going after the big man himself has been off limits. I mean, wouldn't it be better if we cut the head off the snake? The rest would just wither and die."

Ron exhaled a long breath. "Yeah, you're right, Neville. That would make sense..." He stared off into the distance, lost in a sea of his own memories.

"What is it?" Susan pressed gently.

Still not looking at them, he replied, "You can't really kill the Dark Lord. At least not as it stands. All you would end up doing is accomplishing what the Potters accomplished back in 1981."

"You mean dispossessing him of a body," Sue said, her voice still questioning. "I don't get why we shouldn't try. I mean, it seems to suggest quite the opposite. We should be trying to figure out how to get rid of the son of a bitch for good."

"I know," Ron agreed. "And we would, except that I already know what has to be done to get rid of the Dark Lord. For good, that is." All three of his listeners waited expectantly for Ron to continue, but he merely shook his head. "It's out of our hands," he continued in response.

Again, they exchanged another look and then, this time, Sue spoke up. "With all due respect, sir, that doesn't really cut it. Who else knows?"

Ron exhaled a long breath, thinking about just who knew of the whole horcrux thing. Finally, he said, "Well, Hermione, for one."

"What!" Susan exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. "You told her, but you can't tell us?"

"It wasn't me," Ron said, shaking his head. "Harry told us before he left."

"So you know where he is?" Neville asked incredulously. "And all this time you were just pretending to be concerned?"

"No, no," Ron said, trying to explain. "Harry going AWOL was as much of a surprise to me as it was to you. I had no clue what happened to him. For all I knew, he could have been caught by Death Eaters, or he could have run off to the muggle world to become a lap dancer at a gay strip club. Listen, you must understand that the information is so sensitive that if the Dark Lord had even the remotest inkling that we knew anything about the keys to his immortality. Hell, if he even knew this much, even this measly conversation between us, we would be in deep water. He would take steps to secure his power that would ensure he was invulnerable. At least for a really long time. No, as long as he thinks the keys are safe, he won't be inclined to move them, and then we'll have a chance at finding them."

"So why aren't we looking for these keys?" Sue asked, still puzzled.

Before Ron could respond, however, Neville spoke up, answering for him. "Because that's what Harry's been doing," he said, finally clueing in. "And if he's back, then maybe he's done with the keys."

Ron nodded. "Precisely. Which means that we may be on the cusp of victory."

Sue whistled. "Holy shit," she said. "I had no clue. It's like you've been setting up a gigantic red herring. Keeping the Dark Lord focused on his soldiers, wearing them down to draw the Dark Lord's attention and also to set him up for the final fall." Sue shook her head, dumbfounded by Ron's forethought. "Fuck it, I'm never playing chess with you again. You're just plain scary."

At this, Ron grinned. "For a Ravenclaw, it took you quite a while to figure that out."

"I still don't understand why Harry had to do it alone," Neville said. "Wouldn't it have made more sense to have some help along?"

"I wondered about that for quite some time," Ron said, shrugging. "I mean, Herm and I were supposed to join him. We agreed right after Dumbledore's death." Ron now shook his head, trying to clear the multitude of memories that came with the image of the old headmaster's coffin gently being lowered into the ground, the sight of all those well-wishers, Percy and Scrimgeour included among them, Harry breaking up with Ginny, pulling them aside, telling them the score. "I suppose I should have known. Fate's always had something special in store for Harry, and she didn't really include us in that."

""There's something else you're not telling us," Neville said, eyeing Ron speculatively.

"Right in one, Nev," Ron agreed. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to say it now. I'm not even sure what the Dark Lord could do with the information if he found out." Ron then said in a strangely matter of fact tone, "Trelawney, the fraud that she was most of the time, had been known to spout out a bona fide prophecy now and again. Before Harry was born, she made such a prophecy, telling of a child who would be born as the seventh month dies, born to those who have thrice defied the Dark Lord, and that the Dark Lord would mark that child as his equal, and the child would have power the Dark Lord knows not. One will die at the hands of the other, for neither can live while the other survives. The Dark Lord, naturally, took this very seriously and went to dispatch the Potters and their infant son, Harry. In so doing, he unwittingly fulfilled the first term of the prophecy, marking Harry that night with the killing curse that was rebound upon him."

The Huffelpuff, the Gryffindor and the Ravenclaw remained motionless as the import of Ron's words settled upon them. Finally, Susan spoke. "So now what?"

"We need to contact Harry," Neville piped in. "ASAP. It's critical to figuring out where we stand in this war. If the Dark Lord is truly vulnerable, then we have a shot at storming Technoparc as soon as we can mobilize our troops."

Ron did not comment, instead choosing to simply nod tightly, a grave expression still on his place. Neville was just about to ask about this when Sue spoke up, her gaze scrutinizing Ron intently. "You're worried he's dark."

At those words, Ron snapped to attention and fixed Sue with a glare that could wilt lettuce. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, there's the dark curse on Wormtail, the unknown ward he's using, and, then of course, there's Hermione."

"What the hell does she have to do with anything?" Ron asked fiercely, his blue eyes glittering, he having gone from contemplative to attack mode in an instant.

"Nothing," Sue said softly, still not backing down, going so far as to put one gentle hand on his arm. "Except that she shattered your trust. I can only imagine how hard it must be for you, and now you don't know if you can take Harry being dark too. You're afraid."

Instead of going nuclear at these words, Ron seemed to visibly deflate, sagging into himself. "Yeah, I reckon that's all true," he mumbled, picking idly at a loose thread in his robes.

"Come on," she said, pulling on Ron's arm. "Why don't we keep this business about Harry between the four of us for now. It breaks protocol, but I think we can be forgiven this one time. Let's go in and see him."

"Do you think that's wise?" Ron asked quietly, being led along by Sue's determined gait.

"It's a bloody terrible idea," she said, "and we'll probably all be brought up before the Phoenix Council for insubordination, and conduct unbecoming an officer." Sue just shrugged and then added, "But what the fuck, I say. Let God and Fate and our own two feet take us where they may."

The quartet, as such, headed out the Honeydukes passageway and apparated from Hogsmeade.

Technoparc gleamed under the light of the morning sun as Hermione walked down its streets, muggles milling about aimlessly, dopey expressions on their faces. She knew she was being watched, probably had been for several hours, ever since she apparated to the edge of the wards. It had been rather discomfiting to realize that, despite all her skills and strength, she could not tear down the wards, or even punch a dime-sized hole through them. Not that she truly expected to, since Technoparc was rather formidable. Still, it was a disappointment; a girl can hope, after all.

Azrael walked alongside her, his gleaming golden eyes soaking in all the details of that falsely cheery place, vampires hiding in the shadows, licking their lips, werewolves blending in amongst the crowds of muggles, shaking their hands, getting to know them, secretly eyeing them to be their next meal. It was a disturbing place; it was like a David Lynch movie. You never knew when Marilyn Manson or Dennis Hopper or Bob were going to pop up, either in the afternoon or in the dead of night. It was a place where you could see through the sugar-coated topping and down into the seedy underbelly, the dark things crawling about, their leathery black skin stretched tight against their sinewy bodies, white eyes watching, their gait predatory. And still there was concrete and steel and paved roads, fresh tar filling the potholes; everything neat and tidy and outdoor antiseptic, like California and Switzerland. Hermione, the Dark One, eater of babies and queen of werewolves, was, truth be told, all around sort of creeped out by the place.

From above somewhere, Hermione felt the eyes of the Dark Lord upon her, his gaze eternal, unflinching, unwavering. Still, she did not look up, knowing that magic and physics were probably not on her side. She was not surprised to see Lucius Malfoy appear not twenty feet from her, his body shimmering into view as an invisibility cloak pooled about his feet.

"Hello, Lucius," called the Dark One.

"Mudblood," he responded, nodding his head in acknowledgement.

Deploying her legilimancy-sonar, Hermione ascertained that four Death Eaters were hiding under disillusionment in key places around her, having just been put into position with Technokeys, a variant of a portkey designed for instant transport to multiple parts of the city.

Not bothering with anymore formalities, Hermione simply said in an even voice, "Let us duel, then."

Immediately, Lucius fired off the cruciatus curse, as did the four disillusioned Death Eaters, all of which were strategically aimed to either hit her or block off her movements to one side. Hermione made a standing jump that propelled her nearly two metres into the air so that she came to land on top of Azrael, who did not even grunt at the impact of her body landing on his back. Before the curses had reached her, she deployed a focused legilimantic attack to one side, causing two of the unnamed Death Eaters to fall to the ground shrieking, the disillusionment charms ending as their wands rolled from their hands. Lucius looked momentarily surprised, though whether it was from her effective incapacitation of the two Death Eaters, who she executed with one sweep of her wand, easily cleaving them in half with a narrow black beam as they lay twitching on the ground, or whether it was from making a jump that demonstrated inhuman strength, she did not know. Again, curses were fired at her, but she merely dodged the myriad of multi-coloured lights by sliding down Azrael's sides so that she was straddled atop it like it were a horse, the curses passing harmlessly overhead.

Azrael made a hard turn to the left, and charged, demonstrating uncanny strength, speed and agility, effectively scattering the two disillusioned Death Eaters. "Avada kedavra," she said lazily, picking one of them in the back even as Azrael turned around and took a running leap at the next one, who futilely attacked it with a bone shattering curse. Azrael roared as the curse impacted against his abdomen, bruising his ribs. He bent down and snapped up the Death Eater's wand arm in his powerful jaws and crushed it, Hermione fluidly sliding off the creature and avoiding yet another killing curse, and responding in kind by discharging two of them in one smooth stroke, Lucius's eyes widening as he saw not one but two coming. Hermione just smiled as he threw himself out of the way really hard, his face smacking against the cement sidewalk as he kept one hand gripping his wand. "Crucio," she said, still in that same casual voice, Lucius rolling out of the way and casting the mudblood curse haplessly in her general direction, while trying to clear the blood that was spilling into his eyes. Hermione caught him with the next cruciatus, pinning him down on the concrete as he writhed and screamed and flailed about, his wand being uselessly thrown from his hand as his muscles spasmed and twitched involuntarily. After two minutes, she released the curse, careful to continue deploying her sonar to catch any encroachers that might bee coming to free the senior Malfoy.

Spluttering through a mouthful of blood and several chipped teeth, Malfoy managed to croak, "How? You're just a mudblood. A filthy, worthless little mudblood! It - it's not possible."

"Ah, but it is, Lucius," Hermione said in her soft and deadly, 'You're going to die soon' voice. "That is why you're a pureblood. You and your kind live in the past. Go and join them then. Avada kedavra." In a flash of green light, the Malfoy patriarch was no more, his eyes still stained with blood, his body still twitching from the onslaught.

Hermione whirled around, her wand poised. There, before her stood the Dark Lord, his robes gently swaying in time with the wind, an inscrutable expression on his face as his red eyes studied her. His gaze fell upon her Dementor-hand with a look of curiosity. She tentatively flexed it, sending out concentrated waves against the Dark Lord, and, to her disappointment, though not exactly surprise, she saw that it did not affect him in the slightest.

"Most intriguing," he said, still studying her. "You are indeed quite special, miss Granger."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, wondering how it was that he recognized her name.

"May I ask what it is that has brought you to my playground?" he inquired.

She cocked her head, now taking a moment to study him. He was tall and incredibly lean, inhumanly so, and she wondered what it was that he did to himself to cause that chronically emaciated look. And the red eyes and the distinct lack of hair, both of which were unnerving in so far as they made him hideously ugly. The red eyes must be part of some sort of mind defense transformation, she reasoned. "I am here to kill things," she replied evenly.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow at this proclamation. "And why is it that you would come here to do that?"

"I heard there might be someone around here who could give me a challenge," she answered, still in her cool, collected tone. "You up for it?"

The Dark Lord smiled. "Indeed, I am."

"Good," she said, nodding. "Let's do this to the death."

Lord Voldemort's brows were raised even higher. "That is a little extreme, isn't it?"

Hermione smiled. "Well, I suppose death is already out of the question for you, since you can't be killed. But I'll settle for dispossessing you, at the very least."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes and scrutinized her, the air of amiability around him evaporating, his eyes searching for some sort of hidden meaning, an indication that she knew of the horcruxes. Studying her face, each line, he simply watched for a long minute, and, then, just as he was about to give up and assume she knew nothing, he saw a flicker, an image of Dumbledore and the cracked ring on his finger. Slytherin's ring. And he knew she knew.

So the old man found out, he thought, thankful now more than ever that Snape had offed him. Still, he had to wonder just how many were left. How many had the old man destroyed? Voldemort was even more disturbed that he hadn't felt the destruction of the ring. The diary he had simply passed off as being because he had been wandering about in spirit form, but the ring had to have been destroyed after he had regained his body, after the battle at the DOM.

"So be it," Lord Voldemort said, resolving to break the girl before him. In truth, he was most impressed by her abilities. She moved with a speed and strength and grace that spoke of the dark arts, of dark transformations. Certainly the creature next to her was a product of some peculiar breeding, which had created a creature of formidable power, capable of speed, intelligence, virtual invulnerability from spells, including the unforgiveables.

They duelled.

Hermione shot off two killing curses which Lord Voldemort dodged effortlessly, sending two back with the same arcing motion of his yew and phoenix feather wand.

"Crucio!" Hermione incanted, resolving to play aggressively. She discharged cruciatuses and killing curses in rapid succession, Voldemort batting away the cruciatuses with the same peculiar spell that the Colonel had used long ago, and merely dodging the killing curses. Seeing this, she switched to killing curses only, discharging them at a rate of two per second, driving the Dark Lord slowly but surely towards a corner where he would be effectively trapped. Hermione smiled inwardly, her dark eyes glittering, the feeling of triumph flowing through her veins. So much for the Chosen One, she thought spitefully. So much for batty old hags and their worthless prophecies. It will be me who ushers in a new era in the wizarding world, not the Dark Lord, not the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, not Ronald Weasley. It will be me.

Before she knew it, the Dark Lord was hit with two killing curses dead on, Hermione's smile breaking out on her lips as she stood and watched them impact against the Dark Lord's body. Success. However, even as she took her first step forward to reclaim his wand, she realized that something was terribly wrong. The curses which had hit him with such force they nearly toppled him off his feet should have sent him collapsing to the ground in a tangle of his own robes and dead limbs. That, unfortunately, was not the case. He merely stood their, eyeing her appraisingly before speaking. "I suppose you have found me out then," he said in a falsely despairing voice.

"But - but how?" Hermione asked, not understanding. "It's not possible! Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she had uttered the same words Malfoy had before she killed him. Still she did not care. This was not supposed to be happening. The Dark Lord was supposed to be dead, and she was supposed to be the victor.

"Perhaps we can play in earnest now," he said, amused, a dark twinkle in his eyes.

Pushing down the burgeoning fear, Hermione switched to heavy assault curses, like the exsanguination curse and the evisceration curse, sending them off two or three at a time. Only, now Voldemort was easily blocking them and sending back curses of equal ferocity in her direction. Hermione executed a backwards summersault roll, letting a curse shoot by over head as she sent a spray of boiling oil at the Dark Lord, who raised a wall of concrete to repel it.

Maintaining the stream of conjured oil, she sent a blasting hex at the concrete barrier that blew it apart, only to discover that Voldemort was no longer there. Whirling around, she saw that he had woven a silver cage around her familiar, who, meanwhile, was bleeding profusely out of a large gash in his side. A gash that was refusing to heal.

Hermione conjured a whip of blue flame and slashed at the Dark Lord, who dispelled it with a flick of his wand, before returning to the creature to study it.

"Interesting,' he mused. "I understand now. It was you who took the dementors from me." Voldemort then sent a blasting hex at the ground near Hermione's feet, which she blocked while waving her Dementor-hand and concentrating as focused and as violent an assault as she could manage against the Dark Lord. The beam was chased by wandfire of raw dark energy. Noting that the Dementor-hand, did seem to distract him momentarily, Hermione then sent the evisceration curse as Voldemort blocked the beam of energy by conjuring a black shield.

He blocked that as well and generated two flame whips that he sent slashing down at Hermione, who jumped back to avoid them, simultaneously casting a wide beam of ice that froze the two tongues of flame. Shattering them and sending the ice fragments in his direction, Hermione also sent a blasting hex at the ground, which Voldemort merely jumped over, coming to a crouch not ten feet from her and sending a killing curse at lightning speed, forcing her to rapidly dodge out of the way, already moving himself to avoid the next attack while conjuring four serpents to attack her. Permanent conjuration, she thought, suitably impressed, but already putting the four snakes to good use. She transfigured them into a butterfly and affixed an explosion hex to it, sending it to the Dark Lord who eyed it suspiciously before vaporizing it with a burning hex. To his surprise, the butterfly promptly exploded, releasing all the stored magic of the four snakes plus the explosion hex, which sent Lord Voldemort careening to the ground, his robes lit afire and burn marks on his face and hands.

Hermione again deployed a legilimantic assault and simultaneously sent three evisceration curses. This time, however, the dementor attack did not affect him at all, and he simply raised another shield, absorbing all three curses, as powerful as they were.

"Dammit," she muttered, realizing for the first time that she may very well be out of her league. Trying one more attempt at ingenuity, she began banishing various objects at Voldemort, including a motorbike, a stone garbage receptacle and a street post, which nearly impaled him as he snatched it out of midair with his hand and threw it back in Hermione's direction, catching her off guard and clipping her in the shoulder as she dived out of the way, hitting the ground with a roll and popping back up to fire off yet another curse, this time the roasting hex, followed by the Disembowelment hex, which Voldemort merely blocked. He eyed her speculatively once again, no longer making any moves to attack.

"You are indeed rather powerful," said he, looking at the girl who managed to survive for that long.

Hermione did not respond, instead choosing to wait for an opening so she could attack yet again.

"You have spellwork that would rival the Colonel. That coupled with your speed and strength make you a superior adversary, as well as your keen intellect and ingenuity in a duel. The butterfly demonstrated particularly in-depth knowledge of magic. I had wondered why you didn't make the butterfly a permanent transfiguration, knowing I could have simply vanished it. But then again, it was merely a butterfly."

"Yes, well, it is common knowledge that transfiguration is a double-edged sword in duelling. Frankly, I am rather insulted that you used it to begin with. Did you think a gaggle of snakes was going to unnerve me?" she asked, a tinge of incredulity in her tone.

Lord Voldemort smiled. "I did, and for it I beg your forgiveness. As you can see, I have learned my lesson. Certainly, it has worked on some of my most formidable enemies in the past. It is rather impressive that you did not even flinch at the sight of them. I made them most menacing, as it were."

"I still cannot believe that you have immunized yourself from the killing curse," she said. "How did you do it?"

Lord Voldemort's expression turned stern. "Please do not insult me, miss Granger. I know you are aware of the ritual that I performed to achieve immortality. How you came by that information still eludes me, but rest assured, I am aware you know of it."

"So it is just the horcruxes then," she mused. "But then why did the killing curse rip you from your body in 1981?"

Voldemort smiled. "Ah, I understand you are rather the clever girl. I have no doubt you'll come to figure it out shortly."

Thinking upon it, she finally said, "You were in the process of casting magic, which means there was a sort of open vent for your magic to escape. It would have left you a muggle if you tried to close it off, because the killing curse cuts your magic as much as it cuts your soul from your body. So long as your magic is contained and airtight, it won't escape when the curse hits. That is why you tend not to fire back when you're confronted with the killing curse."

Voldemort grinned brightly at her, his dark eyes twinkling yet again. He clapped at her deduction. "I would have rather fled my body with my magic intact than remain in my body with my magic gone. For, you see, I can always secure another vessel. Magic, on the other hand, would not be so easy. You truly are a brilliant witch."

Hermione found herself blushing at the compliment.

Voldemort continued as though not sensing her reaction to his words. "I have seen many witches and wizards come and go over the last fifty years. None have shown promise like you. You dabble in the dark arts, do you not? I see it in your eyes. They are a part of you. So many of my followers claim to love them, but they fear them to. You are the first who has embraced the dark with the same warmth as I have done. You could be great, miss Granger. Already with a mere fraction of the dark arts that are out there, you have done great things. Under my tutelage, you could be my successor, even. You could rule all of Britain. I would make you my heir."

Hermione snapped to attention at Voldemort's last words. "Your heir?" she asked, suspicion creeping into her voice. "What in the world would you need an heir for?" Somewhere, deep in the back of her mind, that once shy and moral girl who was a Gryffindor wept yet another tear, for the person she had become.

Voldemort smiled. "You do not really expect me to continue dominating the country forever, do you? Just because I wish to live forever does not mean I wish to control forever. That mantle I would groom you for, building you to be as strong as me, stronger even, so that you can continue my work, maintain order."

"Your work," Hermione said, tasting the words. And then, looking directly into his eyes, added, "But your work includes killing people like me."

At this, Lord Voldemort chuckled and shook his head. "No, as it happens, it does not. Do let me explain before you look at me like that. It is most unbecoming of a dark witch to scowl." And with that, Lord Voldemort turned around and walked away, beckoning with one hand for Hermione to follow, casually releasing her familiar from bondage, it near death from blood loss.

The Dark Lord glanced over his shoulder and gave Hermione a questioning glance as if to ask, Are you coming?

Without hesitating, without so much as even pondering the consequences, Hermione followed after him, the prospect of all that she could learn from the immense being before her, flitting through her mind's eye.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

It's Been A Long While, Old Friend

Ron, Neville, Susan and Sue silently made their way down the second floor hallway toward Harry's room, two people lining up on either side of the door, Neville Susan and Sue looking to Ron to see what their next move should be. Ron sent forth a tiny patronus wasp to slip inside and return to file a report. The wasp disappeared through the doorway, and, after several minutes of waiting, the others began to look questioningly at their leader. He just shrugged, not knowing himself why his patronus did not return. He sent another one, this time to report back immediately. Again, after disappearing through the doorway, it simply did not return.

Ron conjured a privacy bubble and surrounded the four of them. "What do you reckon?" he asked, looking at the other three.

"Null bubble," Sue said dejectedly. "I can't believe he can cast one. and affix it to objects no less. He must be warding the entire room with it."

"Do you have to be dark to cast one?" Ron asked.

Sue shook her head. "No, just really powerful."

"Should we maybe just knock?" Susan asked tentatively. "Seems like it could be the simplest way to do this."

"Who knows if he's got other wards or booby-traps in there," Sue said, agreeing. "We should just try the simple and direct approach and knock."

"Agreed," Ron said, promptly extinguishing the privacy bubble, permitting him to turn around and knock on the door.

No answer.

"Hmm," Sue said, tapping her foot on the ground. "Seems rather anti-climactic if he's gone out. Jeez, we came all this way, and nothing."

"Maybe not nothing," said Neville.

"What do you mean?"

Neville hesitated for a moment, even going so far as to lower his head in contemplation for a moment before looking each of them in the eyes and saying, "Let's break in."

"Seriously?" Sue asked, sounding rather dubious at the prospect of forcing their way into a dangerous situation. "seems a bit reckless, don't you think?"

"Yeah well, we're Gryffindors," Ron said, agreeing with Neville and shrugging.

"But you're supposed to be his dorm mates!" Susan exclaimed, scandalized by the prospect of invading Harry's privacy.

"Might be good to test his defenses," Sue said, pondering the issue, tapping her chin thoughtfully with one finger. "You know, see what he's made of, and all that."

"Then it's agreed," said Neville, drawing his wand and holding it in a quasi-dueling grip.

The others followed suit, all of them turning their wands to the door.

"Hold on," said Ron, gesturing to Neville and Susan. "Go slip into the next room and test the defenses he has on that side. He's probably got the door warded to the hilt, but that doesn't mean that all four walls are."

Susan and Neville nodded and headed down the hall to enter the next room.

"So how are we going to do this?" Sue asked, absently casting the unlocking charm to see what effect it would have. Unsurprisingly, it did not unlock the door. Ron then tested the lock just to make sure it was in fact working. From there, they silently agreed that, if Harry were truly using a null bubble, their best bet would be to use non-magical means of entry. As such, Sue pulled out her .357 and demolished the door handle with three rounds, each of which disappeared immediately after impact. She then made short shrift of the hinges, while Ron gently levitated the door, careful not to let it fall into the room. They were operating under the assumption that the null bubble probably encompassed the entire room, but stopped just short of the doorway. Thus, Ron and Sue were hesitant to cast magic that would run afoul the threshold.

"Got it," Ron said, laying the door flat on the ground and cancelling the levitation spell so that he could join Sue and look into the room to examine it before walking in.

To their surprise, they discovered that they couldn't see anything, because there was a layer of fog obscuring their view.

"Er," Ron said, staring at it dumbfounded. "Sue?"

She simply responded by saying, "I have no bloody clue."

"I thought the null bubble cancelled magic," Ron persisted.

"It does."

Ron then pointed sharply to the fog charm. "That, Ms. Lee, is bloody magic. How?"

She simply shrugged and shook her head, indicating that she didn't have the slightest clue how one could operate magic inside a null bubble.

"What do you reckon?" Ron asked finally. "Do we go in?"

"Only if you want a painful death," Sue replied, still trying to figure out the puzzle before her.

"Painful death?" Ron repeated. "How do you figure?"

Sue just looked at Ron before rolling her eyes. "Do you think he set up the fog charm so that he could hide tea and biscuits? He's probably got charmed machetes or buzz saws or something ready to eviscerate you the second you walk in uninvited."

"That doesn't sound very pretty," Ron said, still eyeing the fog charm. He tried casting a few charms to dispel it, but nothing worked. They could see the magic visibly deteriorate about one inch from the fog.

"Holy fuck," Sue breathed, it suddenly dawning on her how Harry had managed the bubble. "He hollowed it out!"

"What do you mean?" Ron asked, still casting charms, looking for a weak point.

Sue pointed at the fog charm. "He cast the null field and then hollowed it out. Crap, that sounds ludicrous. Never mind the whole creating a ward out of the spell. Ron, this is way beyond anything we've studied. The only reference I ever heard about this kind of magic usage was in a text summarizing the Fidelius. And even then..." She trailed off, her mind still awash with new ideas.

"So you're saying that instead of creating a bubble, he created something that more closely resembles a shell."

sue nodded. "It's strange. I mean, in theory you could create shapes other than spheres. It's just that spheres are the easiest because they form themselves naturally. I can't even begin to imagine how you would go about controlling your magic so that you could create a shape like this. I'm willing to bet that the field isn't spherical at all, but more rectangular, probably matching the room's dimensions perfectly. Your patronus never had a chance to even find a spot to sneak in. The room's probably warded to the hilt."

"Could still fire a bullet into it though," Ron mused. "He's not thinking with muggle weaponry in mind."

"Yeah, of course the null field might strip away the enchantments. It's unclear because bullets travel so fast. I don't know if the bullet would spend enough time inside the field for the vacuum to have a significant impact on the magic."

"I wasn't seriously contemplating firing into an unknown region with potential allies," Ron said. "But your words do give me an idea. What if I shot a large enough dose of magic hard enough and fast enough to carry it through the null field. Given that it's so thin, could it have a chance of making it to the other side?"

Sue merely responded by saying, "I have no idea how fast magic diffuses. We have no experimental data on null fields, and have done little to advance theories in it, since we could only produce one for a few seconds. The project was dropped."

In response to her words, he said, "Well, I guess it's time to try then."

He concentrated for a moment, preparing himself for the discharge, and then shot a thick white beam of energy across the threshold of the room. It visibly fizzled out to a point which just seemed to barely touch the fog before disappearing into it. Ron concentrated on pushing more energy through, and the beam thickened in response. Sue joined him by casting a ring of magic around the beam and sending it off, hoping it would act as a buffer. It improved their results marginally. Sue continued discharging magic as hard and fast as she could, while Ron stepped up his own beam, until his arm began to shake and beads of sweat dripped down his face. After a few moments of intense concentration, Ron broke, the spell fizzling out and his body going slack as he staggered backward and leaned against the wall for support, absently brushing sweat from his brow. Sue was in a similar condition, panting and bending over to lean against the door frame to clear the dizziness that was assaulting her.

"Damn, that was brutal," she managed.

When they both regained their composure, they looked up and saw that they had punched a hole through the fog charm that was about two inches in diameter. "Good stuff," Ron said. "It at least got us somewhere."

They both crowded around the hole and peered through. to their dismay, they found they could see very little. A tightly woven network of chains seemed to be beyond the fog charm, obscuring their view into the interior of the room. Leaning backward, Ron voiced the question, "What the hell was that?"

"That," Sue said, now more perturbed than ever, "was a wire mesh designed to either keep something trapped inside or to keep something out." After a moment, she added, "It's a good thing you didn't fire into the room. The bullet may have ricocheted off that thing and bounced back in our direction. Especially if there's a repulsion charm on it."

Ron whistled. "Damn. There's just no way for us to get in there."

"Not unless we're planning to use an RPG, and even then..." Sue shrugged, leaving the question hanging. For all either of them knew, the mesh was magically reinforced to stand up to that kind of firepower, or, again, a repulsion charm might bat it back to the sender before it exploded.

"Well, bugger that," Ron finally said, holstering his wand. "Care for a bite to eat?"

"Would love to," Sue replied.

The pair collected Neville and Susan, who had had even less success than they themselves had, and the quartet headed downstairs to grab a bite to eat and keep a lookout for the return of their fated hero.

-----------------

"So how long's it going to take for you to take out this Voldemort guy?" Minnie asked, munching contentedly away on a spinach and grilled tofu sandwich.

"It's really just a matter of finding him at this point. And his snake, of course," Harry said, mango smoothie in one hand, a piece of fried chicken in the other.

"Right, the other soul bit."

Harry nodded.

Harry and Minnie were sitting in a muggle cafe just a few blocks from the Leaky Cauldron. It was the late afternoon and neither felt particularly like doing much, especially after the Wormtail incident the previous day. And given that the wizarding world, Diagon Alley in particular, was neither safe nor cheery, they decided to keep to the muggle side of things.

"You probably want to do it quickly though," Minnie said. "I mean, he's probably running around killing people."

"Yeah, probably," Harry agreed. "I suppose that's as good a reason to hurry as any. Truth is though, I don't know where to find him. Or my friends for that matter."

"Well, you've painted a pretty big sign over your head," Minnie pointed out. "Everyone at the Cauldron knows you, and word's probably spread like wildfire."

"If Wormtail were any indication," Harry said, agreeing again. "True, true." He sighed, and leaned back, idly levitating crumbs off his plate and flicking them in the general direction of a child at a nearby table. The kid's eyes widened as he saw the crumbs floating in midair, and Harry just smiled and winked while the kid pulled on his mother's sleeve to get her attention. Promptly, Harry dropped the crumbs so that when the kid's mother did turn her attention to him, she saw nothing out of the ordinary.

"You're terrible!" Minnie said, laughing and slapping Harry on the arm playfully.

He just shrugged and smiled goofily, noting that the kid was now watching them in a surreptitious fashion. Doing a quick check that nobody else was looking, Harry conjured a flower right on top of the table, willing his magic to force it to materialize slowly, bringing it to life the way replicators and transporters in those old Star Trek TV series tended to make things appear.

The kid goggled as though he had just seen Santa Claus.

"Mom!" he said, eyes still wide and now pulling hard on his mother's sleeve, his voice now audible as he was practically yelling due to his excitement.

"Oh, you're going to get him in trouble," Minnie said, with mock-admonishment.

"It's good for him," Harry returned, not concerned in the slightest. "Maybe he'll grow up having a greater appreciation for the unknown. Muggles are trained to be far too narrow-minded."

"I'm not sure that this is the right strategy," Minnie said dubiously.

The mother was now reprimanding the boy.

"What's say we take off."

"Sure," Minnie agreed, wiping mustard off her lips and standing. Harry threw down a twenty pound note and followed suit, waving to the kid as they walked by, the kid just staring between their retreating forms and the white rose that continued to sit idly on their table.

Once outside the cafe, Harry picked Minnie up and spun her around, causing her to shout out in surprised delight and, before they had stopped, he apparated them to just inside the Leaky Cauldron, their bodies still pressed together, still spinning to their own internal rhythm, their heartbeats palpitating in unison as they slowed, Minnie coming down from the spin, her feet gently regaining ground. There they stood, looking into one another's eyes for what seemed like an age, oblivious to the Death Eaters and the phoenix soldiers that had been waiting there for them.

Harry leaned in close, his heart rate still high, his muscles tense from the anxiety. Looking for signs of acceptance, for that feeling of connectedness, Harry leaned forward and gently brushed his lips against Minnie's, still searching, still wondering whether he was destroying the peace they shared together. He pulled back, his eyes still searching for some sign of emotion. Minnie seemed frozen, as though she had somehow been turned to stone, despite the warmth he still felt emanating from her. She then smiled a happy, 'took you long enough' sort of smile, which Harry returned.

"Avada kedavra."

In a flash, a dozen men and women stood on either side of the pub, wands raised, that one lone curse crossing the distance between the Death Eaters and Harry Potter. Harry just sighed, and drew his wand, and summoned a pint of butterbeer to intercept the curse. The pint exploded in a fit of glass shards and drops of the tasty beverage, the sound of the glass fragments crashing against the floor and raising the tension in the room.

It was a strange sight, Harry decided. There were twenty Death Eaters in total, some of them disillusioned and hiding at the edges of the wall, one in plain clothing and pretending to be an innocent patron. A handful of others seemed to simply appear, decked out in full Death Eater regalia. He could sense the darkness within them; he could feel their Dark Marks pulsing on their arms, symbols of their allegiance, and he understood now how silly it was to think that Dumbledore could have ever been blind to the presence of a Death Eater. Their marks lit them up like Christmas trees to anyone sensitive enough to feel the flows of magic. It was even easier to spot disillusionment, and invisibility cloaks were a joke, since they were concentrated beacons of magical energy.

All in all, Harry was really unimpressed.

More interesting was the fact that Ronald Weasley was present, and not just the impetuous, red-headed Gryffindor, but three unlikely allies, all of whom were slinking about near the bar, where Tom, the barkeep, stood frozen at the sight of his bar-turned-battlefield. With Ron stood Neville Longbottom, Susan Bones and some Ravenclaw whose name Harry couldn't quite pin down. Judging from how they were trying to slink into the shadows and that their wands were trained on the Death Eaters, Harry could only assume that they were, at least tangentially, on his side.

"Are you guys just going to stand there or do you actually intend to attack me?" Harry asked, his voice sounding both innocent and incredibly scary as he turned to face the Death Eaters. "I don't exactly have all day, you know."

Harry's words seemed to have the intended effect. Whatever interest the Death Eaters might have had for Ron and his cadre of friends was promptly extinguished as each of them momentarily lived out their own little fantasies of killing Harry Potter. As such, they focused their will on that particular task, each of them dreaming of the rewards they would receive for being the one who could lay title to the murderer of the Boy-Who-Lived. It probably wasn't the smartest move in the world to start taunting people who were trying to kill you. Certainly it didn't work for Sirius Black back in the Department of Mysteries, and, despite Harry's superior magical prowess, twenty Death Eaters of unknown skill were a lot to handle.

Still, Harry had had experiences fighting against tougher odds, and he had a few tricks up his sleeve. Before a single Death Eater could utter another curse, Harry executed three formidable spells simultaneously. First, he animated three tables and a chair, and deployed them to cordon off Ron and his friends. While they may have looked like they knew what they were doing, Harry wasn't prepared to take chances, and simply assumed that they were Hogwarts drop outs who found themselves in a bad place at a bad time. It didn't help that he noticed that Neville was missing a hand. Second, he transformed the floor of the Leaky Cauldron into a frictionless sheet of ice that was four inches thick, taking a moment to chill it below zero degrees Celsius, below minus ten, and minus twenty and minus thirty, and continuing to chill it all the way until it reached minus eighty degrees. Thirdly, he conjured a flock of birds, and sent them fluttering aimlessly at the Death Eaters.

And that was only the beginning. Soon, the world would become acutely aware of the wrath of the Chosen One.

Half the Death Eaters fell over instantly as they instinctively dodged the robins and blue jays, unable to keep their balance on the slippery surface. Harry knew that, for all intents and purposes, they would be out of commission for at least a minute, as many of them cried in pain and shock as they planted their hands on the floor, which were promptly seared by the deep cold of the ice. The other Death Eaters cottoning on to the predicament they were in, stood stock still and instead chose to fire off a round of heavy curses, expecting to simply overwhelm Harry before dealing with what was otherwise an impressive transfiguration.

The purple light of four Mudblood curses, the blood red light of three Evisceration curses, the amber light of one Cruciatus, and the black light of two disembowelment curses all converged on Harry's position. Calmly, he simply said, "Protago," and erected the most powerful shield on the planet, which easily absorbed each and every curse, with the exception of the Cruciatus, which he simply ignored, despite the fact that it hit him dead on.

"Is that all?" he asked curiously, quirking an eyebrow at the stunned Death Eaters. In response, Harry fired a single cutting curse, and even, as a token gesture of generosity, annunciated the incantation for the benefit of the Death Eater who he targeted. "Diffindo." Still with their mobility severely hampered, the Death Eater simply raised a shield, which was probably the stupidest thing in the world he could do. Like a bullet, the fierce golden energy of Harry's spell punched clean through the hapless Death Eater's shield, and continued onward, slicing through his torso, breaking the skin, severing a rib, cleaving his spleen in half and tearing through his duodenum, before severing his spinal column and cutting clean through the other side, so that the Death Eater collapsed to the ground, paralyzed, fatally wounded and the partly digested chicken sandwich he had for lunch spilling onto the frozen floor.

From there, the cutting curse simply continued onward, impacting against the skull of a second Death Eater who was in the process of getting to her feet. The cutting curse sheared through her skull, just above her lips, cut her brain in half and continued out the other side, effectively slicing her head into two parts with surgical precision, so that her brain fluids sloshed about and splashed across the floor, greyish tendrils of brain matter twitching convulsively as electrochemical signals continued to be dispatched for the next several seconds. The cutting curse continued onward until it hit a barstool, which it reduced to rubble before coming to a complete stop.

"Oh my God," one of the Death Eaters said, staring at the carnage Harry managed to inflict with a single, fourth year spell. "We're all going to die."

And so it went. The remaining nine Death Eaters standing switched to killing curses only, having already witnessed the strength of Harry's shield and not wanting to chance letting him fire off another curse.

"Avada kedavra."

"Avada kedavra."

"Avada kedavra."

"Avada kedavra."

"Avada kedavra."

"Avada kedavra."

"Avada kedavra."

"Avada kedavra."

"Avada kedavra."

The Leaky Cauldron was lit with the eerie glow of the killing curse. Harry, still unfazed, levitated every single loose, inanimate object in the pub and swirled them around at high speed in yet another ludicrous show of power, deploying two tables to absorb the killing curses sent his way, while he summoned a butter knife from the bar at high speed, so that it buried itself in the back of a Death Eater's head. The blade hit her with such force that it buried itself deep into her skull, piercing the occipital lobe and instantly blinding her as she staggered about drunkenly, her brain slowly oxidizing and causing central nerve death. Harry had paid her little mind though, and had instead moved on to dispatching two Death Eaters with a complex quasi-transfiguration, quasi-apparation that left their heads fused together, causing subdural hemridging that was, unsurprisingly, killing them slowly and painfully. A mournful moan escaped their joined mouths as they flailed about in a macabre dance, one of their arms accidentally whacking a Death Eater in the face and bringing the two and a half of them down onto the ground.

Harry simultaneously sent a summoning charm and a banishing charm at a Death Eater, while, conjuring a hissing snake at his feet to divert his attention. Both the summoning charm and the banishing charm hit home. The effect was to cause his legs to be sent flying backwards while his torso was drawn forward. The force of the spells ripped his body in half, and Harry used the mangled torso to absorb still more killing curses that were being sent his way, now with greater intensity and desperation. Absently, Harry noted the look of mingled pain and fear on the dismembered Death Eater's face, his white mask hanging askew, tears in his eyes.

"YOU BASTARD!" a Death Eater cried out, having taken a moment to survey the mounting carnage. "AVADA KEDAVRA."

-----------------

Ronald Weasley was not the brightest bulb in the batch, and he knew it. He was a Gryffindor, not a Ravenclaw. Still, even he understood the magnitude of raw magical power and skill needed to do what Harry was doing. He, Sue, Neville and Susan had watched surreptitiously as Death Eaters slowly filtered into the pub, some obscured by charms, others pretending to be patrons. Counting at least fifteen, he and his friends were deeply dismayed. They hadn't bothered putting on their vests when they headed outside, and only Sue had had the presence of mind of bringing a pistol along. Worse, she'd brought the .357, which had a rate of one bullet per second, which meant they could only take down at most two Death Eaters before they would have to brace themselves for return fire. Moreover, there were few hiding places and little maneuverability for dealing with the killing curse, and fifteen or so Death Eaters were a lot to deal with. Even if they waited for Harry, they weren't sure what condition he was in to fight, or whether he was even on their side anymore.

It wasn't really looking like they had good odds. Still, Ron was hardly prepared to simply leave his old friend in the lurch, and none of his comrades were prepared to ditch him. As such, they decided to simply wait and see, and hope that an opportunity presented itself for inflicting maximum damage. Maybe they would get lucky.

It all seemed to happen so swiftly, that Ron could hardly believe his eyes. Harry apparated right into the entryway of the Leaky Cauldron, the muggle girl in his arms, pretty much serving himself up on a platter for the Dark Lord's minions. Him and his muggle girlfriend, both. Ron fought down the urge to roll his eyes and chose to silently berate his friend for his sheer stupidity. Sure, he was a Gryffindor, but this was a bit much.

"Come on," Ron whispered to the others, all of them standing and backing up. They slowly oozed their way into the shadows, hoping to blend in and afford themselves some cover. And then Harry had deflected that killing curse, with such ease, that Ron was rather impressed. Still, he could hardly do that for a dozen killing curses, could he?

"On the count of three," Ron whispered, aiming his wand at the Death Eaters. For a moment, he thought he saw Harry lock eyes with him before Harry continued his sweeping gaze of the pub. It was then that Ron got his first dose of the rich power behind those emerald eyes, and he started to wonder whether Harry was really in any danger at all.

Before he or any of his friends had had time to take aim, Harry had made a nominal swish of his wand, though nothing seemed to come out. Ron, who was paying close attention, however, saw the brief glow of the wand tip and realized that Harry had executed invisible spells, something not a single PA member had been able to accomplish. More importantly, he had executed three spells, and had done so simultaneously. And not just three namby pamby little first year spells or even second year spells, oh no. Harry did some serious magic, and Ron had to bite down on an instinctive feeling of jealousy that had welled up inside of him. Don't think about that, he told himself. Focus. Lives are at stake here.

In a flash, Ron and his three associates found themselves barricaded by three tables and a chair, all of which were skittering about on their wooden legs like spiders. One of them even seemed to turn in Ron's direction and smirk at him, which he found distinctly unnerving. The sheet of ice was downright brilliant though, and he heard Sue gasp with awe, especially when she realized he had made the ice so cold that even to touch it would cause searing pain. And so, with a transfiguration and a conjuration of birds, he had swiftly and efficiently immobilized half his foes.

Still, the other ten were no slouches and immediately fired off an incredible volley of spells, which Harry casually blocked. What was more disturbing was the cruciatus which Harry hardly even seemed to notice.

And then there was the cutting curse. Any doubt that Ron had that Harry had raw magical power in spades met a quick death. He hadn't known it was possible to charge a cutting curse with enough force to punch through a fully formed magical shield plus two adults and then some. And yet there it was. resigning himself to having been excluded from the battle and being forced to watch, Ron instead summoned his butterbeer and put his wand away.

-----------------

"Reducto," Harry said in a rather bored tone. The curse hit yet another Death Eater, this one scrambling pitifully away on his hands and knees. So powerful was it, that the Death Eater disappeared into a spray of blood and guts and bone fragments with not a single piece larger than his index finger.

"Arrgh!" a Death Eater cried out, wiping gore from his mask and firing off yet another killing curse.

"Don't you people ever learn?" Harry asked wonderingly. "Do yourselves a favour and just apparate away already." Harry floated out of the way of the curse and conjured a giant razor whip, which he wandlessly sent flailing about, inflicting innumerable, severe wounds on many of the Death Eaters, some only half-heartedly attempting to dodge or block the torture instrument. One of them stupidly put up his hand to protect his face, only to have his hand lopped off at the wrist and have his face slashed anyway. His wand clattered uselessly to the ground as the Death Eater collapsed, moaning. He pressed the bleeding stump to the ice in the failing hope that the cold would staunch the blood flow. Unbidden, tears dripped down the dying man's face. "Please," he begged to no one in particular. "I have kids." It appeared, however, that nobody was listening, for a moment later, the whip came down on his head and decapitated him. His head rolled about on the floor, tears still staining his face, blood and tendons dribbling out of the open hole.

"Crucio!"

"Crucio!"

A pair of Death Eaters cried out as they scrambled to their feet. Harry didn't even bother trying to dodge. Instead, he just let the sensation of pain overtake him for a moment before giving the Death Eaters a withering glance. "You call that a pain curse?" he asked rhetorically. "That's not a pain curse. I'll show you a pain curse." Harry aimed his wand and said, "Crucio." The amber light streaked across the pub with terrible accuracy. Horrified, the first Death Eater grabbed his comrade and threw him in the way of Harry's curse so that the curse hit the second Death Eater directly in the face. The force of the spell flipped the Death Eater backwards and caused his eyeballs to explode out of his head in a spray of blood before he fell to the ground. The first Death Eater, now only more horrified at the ferocity of Harry's curse, simply dropped his wand and began whimpering. Two more killing curses came from the side and Harry, in an uncharacteristic act of pity, summoned the whimpering Death Eater so that his body absorbed both the curses.

Harry, deciding he had enough of wandlessly floating himself about and dispensing his wrath in a quasi-demonic, quasi-God-like fashion, returned to the entrance of the pub, where Minnie had taken a seat and contented herself to watching the battle unfold. Occasionally, she would wince or emit choice words like, "Ew!" or, "gross!"

There were now four Death Eaters left, all of them in varying states of pain, and suffering from various wounds. By now, they had had the presence of mind to use a Traction Charm to keep from slipping and sliding all over the place and had taken a moment to regroup and make one final stand against Harry Potter, who idly wondered what Voldemort did to inspire the kind of loyalty that bordered on lunacy.

"So, you're the four intrepid Death Eaters that are planning to kill me," Harry mused, twirling his wand, a twinkle in his emerald eyes. He glanced at the mutilated forms of their comrades. "Good luck to you."

"You're nothing special, Potter," one of them spat angrily, his wand trembling with his anger.

Harry recognized that voice. It had certain qualities that had made it unique, and having heard it so many times during his life when his back had been turned had given him a special kind of appreciation for recognizing it. So often before, it had made his skin crawl to be in the same room as the haughty pureblood, but, now, looking at his emaciated form, his body even thinner than usual, Harry could drum up nothing more than a vague sort of pity for him. "Draco," Harry said, taking care to keep his voice neutral.

"Yeah, it's me, Potter," said the Malfoy heir. He was even so bold as to strip his mask off so that Harry could gaze upon his visage one last time. "Your number's finally come up. Nice show, but it'll take more than that to defeat a Slytherin."

"Right," Harry agreed, hardly even paying attention to the false bravado. Instead, he turned his mind back to that dark night atop the Astronomy Tower. It seemed so long ago. Harry remembered the strained expression on Albus Dumbledore's face as he sank slowly yet inexorably toward the stone floor, his back propped against the ledge, Malfoy's shadow creeping up over him as the Death Eater stood backlit from the torches burning in the hallway. Harry, his mind half-focused on that terrible night, turned his piercing eyes to Malfoy and quietly said, "Albus Dumbledore offered you a second chance, Draco."

Draco was not one to be taken by surprise very often. He had cultivated an ability to always look like he was in control of a situation. It was a hard earned trait that had served him well during his time in Slytherin, and it had carried over somewhat to the last several months of his life - even after he came to learn just what being in the service of the Dark Lord truly meant. Still, Harry's words held a great deal of meaning, so much so that he was taken aback, which showed in the momentary change in his expression. Then, just as quickly, as though sensing where Harry was going, his expression of astonishment and fear transformed into restrained anger. "Shut up," he said, though Harry could tell that there was something in his voice that was something other than anger. It had a pleading quality to it, as though Draco did not want to face whatever it was that Harry had to say.

But Harry persisted anyway. "In honour of his memory, I am going to extend to you-"

Draco tried to cut him off. "Shut up, I said!"

If Harry experienced discomfiture from Draco's vehemence, he did not show it. Instead, he just continued, as though he needed to say his peace, as though his life depended on it, or, at least, his conscience. As such, he simply continued speaking as though Draco hadn't ordered him to desist. "-extend to you the same courtesy-"

Draco, it seemed, had enough, clearly not capable of facing the choice that Harry was about to give him. "AVADA KEDAVRA!" Green light exploded from Draco's wand and rushed toward Harry.

Harry had seen that light come upon him so often now, it hardly seemed like a big deal at all. As such, he simply continued speaking and chose to step out of the way of the curse. Later, he supposed that the other Death eaters stood by and watched out of morbid curiosity to see how the drama would unfold without interference. Even Ron and his friends had stopped what they were doing to watch. Harry said, "-the same courtesy. Draco, leave the Death Eaters and return to the light."

Glass exploded behind Harry where the curse impacted with the front of the store. He was dimly aware of the shallow cuts that some of the fragments were making on his back as they pelted him. Absently, he wandlessly vanished them and healed the wounds, doing the same for Minnie.

Once the debris from the glass settled, silence ensuing butt for the occasional passage of cars, Draco took control of himself and spoke in a measured tone. "So long as joining the light means joining you, Harry Potter, I will never do it."

Pain flashed across Harry's face, an image of an eleven year old Draco Malfoy turning his nose up at Ronald Weasley while extending his hand in friendship at the Boy-Who-Lived, briefly cutting across his mind's eye. "So be it," Harry said. In the same measured tone that Malfoy had just used, Harry incanted, "Avada kedavra."

Whether it was because Draco was shocked by the Chosen One using the killing curse, or whether it was because the curse travelled at unusually high speed, or whether it was because Draco decided to join the one side that was neither Light nor Dark, no one ever knew. All that was known is that he did not budge an inch as the spell came toward him. As such, he died on his feet, by Harry Potter's hand.

Draco's death seemed to awaken the three remaining Death Eaters from their trance. In a flash, they all pointed their wands at Harry and incanted the killing curse simultaneously. However, with no discernible motion of his wand, Harry summoned a dozen bottles of firewhisky stacked on a ledge behind the bar careening into the backs of the Death Eaters' heads, causing their spells to go wide as glass shattered about them, giving them concussions and cutting them where the falling shards of glass hit their bodies, and drenching them in one hundred fifty one proof alcohol. For a brief moment, Harry took pity on them, knowing their time had come to an end. Still, he did not hesitate in pointing his wand at them and articulating in a clear voice, "Incendio."

All three Death Eaters burst into flames from the alcohol, all of them shrieking and falling over themselves to try and rub out the flames. Harry however, was going to have none of that, so he simply immobilized them, silenced them and created a slight draft to keep them downwind as their flesh sizzled and burned and turned to ash before the surviving patrons still in the pub, all of whom now sat frozen in awe and fear of the Boy-Who-Lived. With a long, sweeping stroke of his wand, Harry vanished all the bodies and the blood and broken glass and smashed up chairs. In another stroke, he replaced many of the lost pieces of furniture with wholly conjured objects, effectively restoring the pub to its once pristine self. Once having completed these tasks, he turned his attention to the four soldiers at the opposite end of the room.

"It's good to see you, Ron," Harry said, coming up to him and slapping him on the back. "And you too Neville," he continued, looking into the eyes of his once clumsy, squib-like dorm mate, determinedly oblivious to the stupefaction plastered across all their faces.

"Harry?" Ron asked, still flabbergasted from the display of power he had just seen.

Harry waved one hand in front of his best friend and said. "Well, yes, Ron. That would be the name my parents gave me. You know, before old voldy knocked them off."

"Old Voldy?" Sue asked, mystified, her mind still reeling from the sight of a mass transfiguration.

"Yeah, you know, the big bad Dark Lord. The one who's been making my life shitty?" Harry just looked at them as though they were all insane. "Jeez, where've you guys been for the last six months?"

"I believe psychologists call it shock," Minnie said, coming up next to Harry and clasping one of his hands in her own. "It's nice to meet you," she said, extending her other hand to Ron, who numbly took it.

"You're really back," Ron said, staring at Harry as though he were seeing him for the first time. Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs from his brain he finally grinned, a sparkle in his blue eyes. "You're really back, you bloody, sodding, son of a bitch."

And with that, Ron clapped Harry on the back, still grinning, and walked alongside him as they took the stairs two at a time to the second floor, the other three giving the pub one final, shuddering look before following after them.

-----------------

"So you're really not going to tell us where've you been?" Susan asked, not bothering to conceal the hurt in her voice.

Harry leaned back in his conjured, squashy leather armchair and glanced out the window at the rolling clouds that spread out across the city to the horizon somewhere out there towards infinity, much of it occluded by the grey concrete of high-rises that seemed both protuberant and monolithic.

"But why not?" Neville asked carefully, just a hint of curiosity in his voice.

Harry thought back to all that had happened, the trials and the tortures. He thought back to that very first day, the look in Jack's eyes when Harry hit him with the stunner, Stu picking him up off the alley floor, the sight of the multi-coloured sky, a testament to the fragility and the fracture that characterized that place of hard rules. He thought of sitting in that barren back room, acclimatizing to the taste of stale urine in the air, meeting Kittie for the first time, meeting Marv, the feelings of isolation that dogged him during those days, the confusions over his own feelings, the push of the prophecy, the constant fear, his feelings of his own inadequacy. He thought of his first murder, and his second and his third. He thought of the look in Lily Evans Black's face as she managed to intercept the killing curse, the relief that she had done it in the process of sweeping away the resonances of the excruciating pain she had endured just moments earlier. He wasn't the same person that he was back at the end of the school year. He was being changed, tested. He hadn't been sure whether things just happened to him, or whether he pushed things to happen to him. All the same, he was no longer Harry James Potter, Boy-Who-Lived. He was Harry James Potter, the Chosen One. How could he explain that to them? He remembered Kittie's words just days ago. It's like you never had a chance to breathe.

As such, he just smiled placidly in a Dumbledore sort of way and said, "It doesn't matter anymore."

Minnie came and stood next to him, having nabbed a shawl from the corner and pulling it about her bare arms. She took a seat on the armrest and held Harry's hand in her own. Her expression had taken on that serious look that reminded Harry of how his mother had looked as she stood to face Lord Voldemort in the Janis Thickey ward. It was both regal and daunting.

"It doesn't matter anymore?" Ron asked incredulously, the tight control over his emotions that he had cultivated over the last several months breaking. "What the bloody hell do you mean it doesn't matter anymore?"

"I mean exactly that," Harry replied calmly. "There are other things to devote our time towards. My past experiences are not one of them. It will suffice to say for the moment that much of what I resolved to do at Dumbledore's funeral has been accomplished."

"You mean you don't want to tell us," Sue said. "Which is fine to me. I never knew you anyway, but Ron's your best friend."

Harry just smiled. "yes, I believe he is. Which is why he'll permit me my privacy in this matter. Won't you Ron?" Harry asked, turning his intense, emerald eyes to the Commander.

Ron nodded. "Fair enough," he conceded. "Just tell me one thing."

"Shoot."

"Where are your glasses?" Ron asked.

Harry blinked, surprised by what seemed like a rather frivolous thing to focus on. He supposed that Ron was still trying to reconcile the acute differences between the creature that sat before him, and his memory of a teen who never quite managed to be comfortable in whatever role he had been cast.

Finally, Harry spoke, his voice calm, but cold enough to ward off any further inquiry. "I was tortured for a time. In order to keep me awake and functional for questioning, I was fed a multitude of nutrient and restorative potions. They seemed to have fixed my near-sightedness."

The thought that Harry had been tortured apparently hadn't crossed the minds of his interrogators, because they all tensed at hearing him use the word, and, in light of it, Ron couldn't help but ask in a strained voice, "How?"

Harry, recognizing that his long-time friend needed the answer to that question said simply, "Cruciatus. It was on and off for about two days. Harry cast his mind back to those dark days, when he had suffered so deeply, he had lost control of his bodily functions. "It wasn't pleasant, but it was necessary."

A look of understanding crossed Ron's features, and Harry realized with a tinge of sadness and relief that Ron too had suffered that particular curse sometime since their last meeting. We've all changed, I imagine, Harry thought. It was bound to happen. He was just thankful that it had made his friend stronger for it.

"So what now?" Harry asked. "I do not think it's a coincidence that you were at the Leaky Cauldron. I'm also curious as to the arrangement of your new friends," Harry said, giving a pointed look to Sue and Susan and Neville. "Care to tell me what's going on?"

They glanced over at one another and then, coming to a silent agreement, turned to Harry and said, "Can you assure us of some privacy?"

Harry smiled. "Of course. Believe me, there's few places in the world safer than my room. But if you'd like, I can cast the Fidelius."

"The Fidelius!" Sue exclaimed, jumping out of her seat. "But how!"

Harry looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

"Er, well, we've been looking into it. A little." She sat back down, cheeks tinged pink from her embarrassment at having burst out like that.

Harry chose to ignore it and turned back to Ron. "I have no doubt the Dark Lord is seeking a way into this room as we speak. Once his soldiers fail to return and word of their swift demise reaches his ears, he will most likely send a second cadre of assassins, this one operating under stealth to dispatch or incapacitate me. Most likely the former. Once they fail, he will come personally. That is how he operated with Amelia. She repelled multiple attacks, and, as such, drew his attention personally. No doubt Snape and others will have reported that, while I have demonstrated an uncanny ability to survive insurmountable odds, I have always done so through luck and through the assistance of others. Certainly without the Order's interference at the DOM, none of us would have survived."

"So you're saying he'll come to kill you himself?" Susan asked quizzically. "How exactly is that a good thing?"

"It's gotta happen some time, doesn't it?" Harry replied casually. "Better now than later."

"You sound like you're confident you'll win," observed Sue.

Harry just shrugged. "I've come to accept that it'll happen the way it happens. Now, onto other things. Tell me, what have you been up to?"

"We've organized a covert operation to break down the Dark Lord's forces," Ron explained. "We're taking great care to track the movements of all his Death Eaters, gather information, sow the seeds of discontent and distrust amongst themselves. In the end, we hope to clear a path to the Dark Lord so that one of us, presumably you, will have a clear shot at him. Once he's been handled, we'll have all the information we need to launch a swift and efficient strike against the remaining Death Eaters, delivering their entire organization a lethal blow. One from which they will never recover."

"Impressive," he said. "I can probably assist you with that as well."

"If the scene downstairs was any indication," Sue piped in excitedly. "Do you know how hard it is to conjure that many distinct objects? Or to erect a null bubble? And how'd you go about casting invisible spells?"

Harry smiled and spread out his hands in a gesture of submission. "Trade secrets."

Sue just shook her head. "We're going to have to get you to the lab. There are just too many questions I have."

"We'll see," Harry said, his body language suggesting that he wasn't particularly excited about becoming a lab rat for over-eager Ravenclaws. "So what's this about a place called Technoparc?"

"Ah, that is the Dark Lord's stronghold. We're not sure when it happened. He took control of a muggle town that was situated upon a bed of strontium ninety. It's a radioactive metal that has strong magical properties. Specifically, it's good for absorbing magical energy and releasing it slowly. The Dark Lord charged the deposits with magic and spelled them to charge a series of wards that he has erected, including a powerful muggle confundus charm, that leaves many of the inhabitants of the town in a chronic state of delerium. They're left to fend for themselves mostly, though we believe they are also being used as fodder for the Death Eaters' sport, as well as food for the vampires and the werewolves. The corpses are most likely recycled as inferi, thus adding to the city's already formidable protections."

"So if we were to storm Technoparc," Harry mused, leaning back and letting Minnie slide onto his lap, Bono sliding up onto the arm rest where she sat a moment ago and curling around his master, the four occupants suddenly looking horrified at the eight foot long basilisk that was making itself known. Harry just chose to remain oblivious to their distress and continued speaking as if nothing were out of the ordinary, "You would need an effective way of creating fire to destroy the inferi, as well as a strong supply of silver. You would also want the attack to take place during the day."

"We suspect the city is charmed to permit the vampires to walk freely during the day."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "How in the world is that possible?"

"They've constructed a physical shield over the city. They call it necro-tempered glass, and it's been spelled to be shatterproof."

"Has the city been made unplottable?" Harry asked, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Can we get to it?"

Ron nodded. "It appeared on our radar the day after Azkaban fell. No one really knows why. We're guessing it's just another show of the Dark Lord's power. The fact that he's coming out in the open and still not being challenged indicates that he has garnered as much support or power as the Ministry."

"Which is true," Harry mused. "Especially with the fall of the prison."

"That is a basilisk, isn't it?" Sue asked tentatively, her eyes darting from Bono to Harry, who just nodded. "Maybe this is a stupid question," Sue continued, clearing her throat. "Aren't we all in mortal peril?"

"Only if you piss him off," Harry said. "Basilisks don't have to kill with their gaze if they don't want to. It would actually be rather inconvenient for them if they couldn't control their power. It would be something of a friendless world for them, wouldn't it?"

"Er, yeah," Sue said, still a bit nervous. "And it's not going to kill us, is it?"

"His name's Bono," Minnie supplied helpfully, leaning over and petting Bono's head. "He's really a softy when you get to know him."

That did very little to comfort the Ravenclaw.

"Are you suggesting we storm Technoparc?" Ron asked.

Harry shook his head. "I have no clue, to tell you the truth. You guys have all the knowledge on the subject. I don't even know how many of you there are or what your capabilities are. Nice work with the door, by the way."

Ron just snorted. "Cause we got so far with it."

"You got to the third layer. That's more than I expected."

"Despite the information we've gotten, there are still several unknowns. Like the number of vampires and werewolves he has with him. We don't know if he's found a way to block portkeys within the city. We're betting anti-apparation is out, though it may not extend to his Death Eaters, putting us at a severe disadvantage."

"Can we draw him out?" Harry asked. "I would be happier duelling him in a place where I knew he couldn't up and escape simply by apparating or using a portkey."

"Do null fields prevent portkey and apparation travel?" Sue asked.

"It prevents portkeys, but not apparation."

"How's that possible?" she asked.

Harry again shrugged, not having a very good answer for her. "Magical beings like humans have an inner magical core that draws on an apparently endless wellspring of energy. There are certain things you can do with a tap like that. Apparation, is apparently one of them."

"And the enchantments on portkeys should be eradicated by the null field," Sue said, puzzling out the issue.

Harry nodded. "Theoretically, you could even use your inner tap to flood a null field and thus extinguish it."

Ron again snorted. "Not bloody likely. It took Sue and me combined to just manage that little coin-sized hole in your fog charm. And that was through what, a one inch thick null field?"

Harry just smiled benignly. "Of course, of course. It's all just theoretical anyway." Harry decided to switch gears. There was one question that had been burning at the tip of his tongue since they started the discussion, and, he wanted to get an answer to it. "I noticed Hermione's not with you guys. She back at the hideout?"

Immediately, Harry felt the temperature drop ten degrees in the room, Ron's muscles tensing. "Damn," Harry swore, his forehead creasing with sorrow. "When did it happen?"

None of them spoke for a moment. Eventually, Neville asked, "When did what happen, Harry?"

"Er, when did the Death Eaters get her?" he said, starting to realize that something was amiss. The animosity he was sensing from the quartet seemed to be tinged with something else. Only after a moment of intense scrutiny and a bit of peripheral legilimancy did Harry come to understand that it was betrayal. He felt Minnie squeeze his hand in support, probably having felt something similar coming off them.

"Ron, what happened," Harry asked, though even to his own voice he sounded hard and commanding.

"She calls herself the Dark One," Ron said flatly, fixing his blue eyes to Harry's green ones, with such force that Harry wondered if he were trying to cause himself pain by looking into his best friend's eyes. "She's trying to start a muggle-born revolution by killing off purebloods."

"Oh," Harry said, not having expected that response at all. "And does that mean she's trying to kill you off too?"

Ron nodded tightly. "Already tried."

Harry pursed his lips, memories of Hermione helping him master the summoning charm in his fourth year playing out in his mind for a brief moment. "I'm sorry," Harry said finally.

"Me too."

They sat in silence together for a minute, both mourning the demise of the trio, of their oldest and dearest friend.

"It doesn't matter anymore," Ron said. "If we see her, we'll shoot first and ask questions later."

"Is it possible she'll join Voldemort?" Harry asked.

Ron considered the question and when he spoke, he chose his words carefully. "It is a possibility. I believe we've seen that the Dark Lord's primary concern is with accruing power. That happens to be Hermione's goal as well. If the Dark Lord believes she would be more beneficial even in light of the backlash from his more conservative followers, then I do not doubt he would seek to recruit her. If he comes to understand her correctly, I believe his knowledge of the dark arts will be too great an enticement for her to pass up."

"I see," Harry said. "I guess we'd better make sure she doesn't cross paths with Voldemort."

"If she does, then it will make it that much easier to find her," Sue replied. "It'll put her in Technoparc, along with our other enemies."

"But that would only serve to fortify Technoparc that much more," Susan said. "How would that help?"

"Easy," Sue said. "We've been constructing a doomsday weapon. If all else fails, we're going to target Technoparc with a enough explosives to render the entire area useless for generations to come."

"That's hardly the wizarding way," Harry pointed out. "Interesting though. Does she know about you guys?"

Ron again took a moment to consider the question before asking. "Partly, I suppose. She knows we were at Crabbe Manor in Crabbe's private study."

"Neville also added, "And she knew I was pretending to be Goyle Senior."

Harry assimilated this information with the same collected calm that had stolen over him in the past days. "Your organization is in a rather precarious position."

Ron pursed his lips, and Harry noted that his companions were doing similar things to indicate the bitter reality they were being forced to swallow. "I hadn't even considered it," Ron finally said.

"None of us did," Sue added consolingly.

"If a union between Voldemort and Hermione were a matter of random chance, then I would say the odds are slim your opposition to Voldemort will be uncovered," Harry said, puzzling out their dilemma. "However, I'm not entirely convinced that the matter will be left to that. I suspect that Dark will attract Dark. She will be drawn to him, either to compete or to cooperate. She may see Lord Voldemort as an adversary against which to prove herself, or she may see him as a means to gather information on the Dark Arts swiftly and efficiently."

"It's just as likely she could target us for those same reasons," Susan said. "I mean, Ron basically duelled her to a draw."

Harry just shook his head. "No, all practitioners of the Dark Arts are afflicted with the same fatal flaw. They experience nothing but disdain for the Light Arts. A persistent sense of unrest plagues all Dark Arts practitioners; it is that which drives them to crave more of whatever it is that fuels their insecurities. The Light Arts require exactly the opposite. They require you to achieve peace with yourself, to achieve an internal calm that dark artists cannot comprehend on a fundamental level. That is what makes the practice of the two areas so diametrically opposed and inimical to one another."

"If the Dark Lord discovers us," Ron said, moving through the various stages of the war games they were playing, "then it means our time is coming to an end. If they invade, we will be forced to flee."

"We most likely need to force the confrontation on our own terms," Sue said, looking at the issue tactically. "assuming we're confident we can win."

"We've been trained heavily in the area of stealth and duelling, but we have little experience for the latter," Neville added.

"The magitek weaponry should carry us a long way though. I imagine that even with poor odds, we can pick an arena that will afford us effective use of some of our weapons. We could probably mow down half the Death Eaters without breaking a sweat."

"Well, it's more the werewolves and vampires that are of a concern. We just don't have that much information on their numbers."

Harry silently sighed, listening to his former classmates discuss strategy. Having no experience with them, he had little to offer. "Perhaps we should adjourn this affair until we get to HQ. I'm most curious to find out about what you have been doing."

"Of course, of course," Ron said, drawing out a small vial of a clear liquid that Harry instantly recognized as veritassurum. He didn't have the heart to tell them he was immune to it, so instead permitted them to administer it to him and then answer their questions as truthfully as possible, deftly evading the ones that he felt were too personal. Once satisfied, he gathered his things and then apparated himself and Minnie and Bono to the coordinates they specified. From there, the group made their way to Hogwarts.

-----------------

Lord Voldemort stood at the front desk of a large lobby to a nice hotel inside Technoparc. Light filtered in through the large front window, the sight of muggles milling about occasionally outside catching his idle attention as the inner circle of his Death Eaters congregated before him. It was a bit of a dare to do it, but he really didn't want to have the Granger girl's presence remain unknown. He could dispatch her in the future if she proved irritating, but he doubted it. In fact, he was rather warming up to the idea that mudbloods could have equality in the new utopia he was envisioning. He had even started looking upon her as a sort of surrogate daughter. The youth that surrounded him was flimsy in terms of skill. They were weak-minded an undisciplined, and they needed direction. Hermione was the answer to his woes on many levels. It would just be a matter of breaking in his inner circle members, or, quite possibly, sending the dissenters on dangerous missions from which they had no hope of returning alive.

It was not long before the inner circle was arrayed before him. There stood Snape, Dolohov, the two Lestrange brothers and Bellatrix, as well as the Malfoy matriarch. Lord Voldemort inwardly frowned, Nagini lifting her head from where she was pooled around her master's feet to gaze upon the faithful. He hadn't realized just how badly his numbers had dropped. Lucius was a bit of a disappointment, of course, having been bested by the girl. Knot had been murdered not two weeks ago at the Leaky Cauldron. Macnair and Mulciber were old news. Goyle he had mind-raped into insanity. Crabbe the girl had dispatched, along with other key players back in January. And he had been cleverly tricked out of his servant Wormtail. All the better that I induct a new member to our ranks. He just hoped he wouldn't lose more than one existing servant during the evening.

"Good evening," Lord Voldemort said, his voice both soft and reverberant. "I have gathered you here to witness the induction of a new member to our ranks. Some of you have had confrontations with her in the past. She has been a schoolmate of Draco Malfoy, if I understand things correctly." Lord Voldemort paused to gaze expectantly at the faces of his six loyal followers. "Three days ago, she entered Technoparc seeking to duel me, which I obliged. I confess I was suitably impressed with her skill and power, and she, quite naturally, was suitably impressed with mine. As such, she has elected to join us, to be the scourge of muggle filth everywhere in exchange for tutelage in the Dark Arts. Please permit me to introduce Hermione Granger. Child, come forth."

Hermione stepped out of the Notice-Me-Not field she had erected and stood next to Voldemort. She maintained a regal posture, her eyes locking with each of the Death Eaters, silently daring to challenge her presence at the right hand of the Dark Lord. She could tell that some of them had no clue who she was, like Bellatrix and the Lestrange brothers. Others, including Snape and Narcissa caught on pretty quick, while Dolohov merely looked thoughtful, as if searching his memory to figure out why it was that she looked so familiar. Narcissa and Snape maintained their usual impassive masks, even though Hermione knew that Snape at least, must have been seething inside to see a Gryffindor - especially a mudblooded one - take a post near to his master.

It was Dolohov who finally broke the silence, apparently realizing where it was that he had seen her before. "You're the Potter brat's girlfriend," he spat venomously, his demeanor and the expression in his eyes betraying his feelings, despite the mask.

Hermione merely nodded and left his comment at that, not bothering to respond. What was there to say, really? If attacks on her character were going to come, they would come in the next few minutes. Lord Voldemort declared, like a minister presiding over a marriage ceremony, "Should any of you object, do so now or forever hold your tongue."

At first, nobody spoke. Eventually, Snape broke the silence by asking, "My Lord, are we certain that she is not working for our enemies? Her defection comes on the heel of Potter's arrival."

"Nonsense, Severus," said Lord Voldemort. "Her activities have been documented for the last several months. She is the one who assaulted the guests at Crabbe Manor in January."

"She's a mudblood," cried out Dolohov. "We can't seriously permit her among us. Certainly you can't grant her access to the inner circle. My Lord, it is preposterous."

"Do please explain why, Antonin," prompted Voldemort.

"Well, she's a mudblood," he replied, simply reiterating his earlier statement as though it were enough.

"And?"

Dolohov hesitated for a moment, wondering if there were something he were missing before he went on, "Well, she can't be nearly that powerful, can she? She's hardly out of Hogwarts!"

"Technically I never graduated," she said, affirming Dolohov's words. "Of course, Snape can verify that."

"See! See! Even she understands-" Dolohov stopped before he got too far in his ranting. His Slytherin edge seemed to assert itself for all the emotion drained out of his face and he merely said, "Forgive me, my Lord. I should take care to think before I speak."

"Indeed," said Lord Voldemort, nodding his approval. "If I may, I would like to point out that you have made two distinct propositions to her entry into my cadre of elite soldiers. The first is that she is a mudblood, as you so eloquently described it. The second is that she possesses inferior magical abilities. Is that correct?"

"Yes, my Lord," replied Dolohov.

"I am afraid I cannot say much regarding the claim of her heritage. As many of you are aware, heritage is a rather important point in our policies. It is so for a few reasons. The most salient of these, is that pureblooded witches and wizards tend to be more powerful on average. That is a simple reiteration of Antonin's second point, so I will leave it aside. The next most salient characteristic of purebloods that distinguishes them from the muggle-born witch and wizard is that they carry the blood of muggles in their veins. Muggles are inferior as a whole, and so, it has stood as a foundation that the children of muggles, regardless of their magical talent, are inferior as well. The blood that courses through their veins is of an inferior quality when compared to the blood that courses through the veins of the pureblooded witch and wizard. Some of you may be aware that I myself am a half-blood." Lord Voldemort paused and made sure to lock gazes with each of his six inner circle members. "It is a fact that Mr. Potter brought to your attention during the incident at the DOM. Bella was forthright enough to query me on it shortly thereafter. I will tell you the same thing I told her. The magical half of my blood is carried down from the noble line of Slytherin. The other half stems from pure muggle filth. How is it that I can stand here and preach pureblood sovereignty when I myself am a half-blood? the answer is simple. Through magic, I have undertaken to rid myself of my muggle taint. I have stripped myself of that which has made me weak, and, in so purifying my blood, I have grown strong. I have become the most powerful and feared wizard on the planet. Miss Granger has already taken the first steps to embarking on a road of purification, in which she has begun ridding herself of the muggle origins of her blood. I put before you, this simple test. Pit her strengths against yours, and let us see who rises the victor. Behold a prodigy of dark transformations." Lord Voldemort stopped speaking and waited for any of his members to make a petition against her induction.

Eventually, Dolohov stepped forward and bowed before his master. "My Lord, if I may. I would like to test her before we permit her entry. Just as a matter for my own peace of mind, if it pleases you."

"Of course, of course," said Lord Voldemort, clapping his hands together and making way for an impromptu duel. "Come forward, Hermione."

She took a lazy step in front of Voldemort and eyed Dolohov critically. He moved into a standard dueling posture and readied his wand.

"Begin," commanded Voldemort.

In a flash, Dolohov was on the ground writhing, his wand dropped, his hands clutching his head as he moaned and rolled back and forth as if to snuff out invisible flames. Hermione simply made a show of looking at her nails as though she were bored of the entire procedure. Couldn't I have at least been pitted against an occlumans? she thought. Dolohov began to whimper and drool and, through the stream of invectives coming out of his mouth, all the inner circle members could clearly hear him begging for mercy.

Hermione glanced over at the Dark Lord, looking for some sort of cue as to when she should stop, but he made no move one way or the other. Drawing out her wand, she summoned Dolohov's wand and then, deciding that she was feeling less than charitable to the person that had cursed her so long ago at the DOM, she added the cruciatus to the mix, his whimpers suddenly transforming into shrieks as the amber light connected with his body.

"That is enough," said Lord Voldemort, clapping his hands together and snuffing out the magic she was using. Dolohov lay motionless for the most part, occasionally twitching, his mind lost in a sea of broken traumas, blood spilling out his ears and mouth. He had been rendered completely deaf.

"Anyone else?" Hermione asked, looking around at the five remaining members. Briefly, she locked gazes with Narcissa, and wished that it had been she who challenged Hermione. Mostly because Hermione would have counted it a true victory if she defeated the dreaded Colonel, and also because she knew there was a good chance she would lose. Of them all, Bellatrix, Snape and Narcissa were the elite. Hermione wondered if she were strong enough to be counted amongst them.

"I trust she has made a suitable impression." Voldemort took a step forward so that he was next to her once again. Turning to look down upon her, he commanded, "Now, tell us everything you know about our enemies."

At this, Hermione smiled a cold, cruel smile. "A number of Hogwarts students have come together to undermine your organization. When I assaulted Crabbe Manor, one of them, Neville Longbottom, was polyjuiced to look like Goyle Senior. Moreover, during the duel, when I had sufficiently dealt with Longbottom and was just about to execute him three more Hogwarts students blew a hole through the ceiling and dropped down. They included Katie Bell, Terry Boot and Ronald Weasley. The last of them demonstrated superior dueling abilities, including the ability to cast multiple patroni and a shield capable of deflecting the unforgiveables. They were also equipped with portkeys and muggle hand guns. I also hit one of them with the exsanguination curse dead on, and she shrugged it off. I can only imagine they were outfitted with magically resistant armour of some kind." Hermione turned to the Dark Lord and nodded, indicating that she was done her story.

He picked up where she left off. "I trust you all understand the significance of her story. Some of the problems that we have been encountering over the last several months may be attributed to this underground movement. Clearly they have done their work in terms of espionage and reconnaissance. The hole they formed when dropping down into the dining hall led into Crabbe's private study, where key incriminating documents were discovered. It is now my belief that these documents were planted to sow the seeds of distrust amongst Death Eaters and to make me question your loyalties." Lord Voldemort paused to let his words sink in. He wanted to make sure that they understood the significance of the threat they were facing. While he didn't expect school children to take up the mantel of war, or that they would form plans artful enough to confound him, he did understand that much of their power came from the fact that he never would have regarded schoolchildren to have posed a threat in the first place. "Their anonymity, which has been their secret weapon, has now been stripped from them."

"Do we know where they are located?" asked Bellatrix, the prospect of slaughtering kids making her eyes twinkle with anticipation.

Lord Voldemort smiled. "I do have some ideas. However, I do not think it wise to engage them in their own territory. No, we will instead draw them out dispatch them in a more public setting."

Lord Voldemort then went on to outline his plan for luring the Phoenix soldiers into a trap.

-----------------

June 1st.

Throughout the remainder of April and May, things had been unusually quiet. The Dark Lord had staged a full blown strike against the Leaky Cauldron after Harry had dispatched the soldiers he had sent to kill him. As such, the Leaky Cauldron entrance to Diagon Alley was utterly destroyed, driving the once thriving market into further ruin. With London's commercial center in rapid decline, Gringotts announced that they were rolling back their British operations and recalling forty percent of outstanding loans to local businesses, citing war-time provisions located in their treaties with humans. Many of the local businesses had already shut down, and, consequently, the goblins were repossessing wizarding homes and other assets. The Ministry, in response, implemented an emergency financial relief fund for businesses that were still in operation, on the condition that they provide a prospectus that showed their business would be viable with the influx of aid money.

"I suppose it's not a surprise," said Ron, looking down at the Death Eater recruit who was currently under the effects of the draft of living death. "I mean, it was only a matter of time before they stormed the Ministry. Especially now that Azkaban has been destroyed."

Harry remained silent, and instead chose to focus his attention on the Hogwarts lake shining under the fiery light of the sun. They had uncovered a secret operation by the Death Eaters to execute an assault on the Ministry, presumably to take control of the building, kill their major opposition, including the Minister himself, and cause mayhem generally. Harry supposed he should have been feeling anxious or excited or tense. Instead, it seemed as though a vast, impenetrable calm had descended over him, as though he were dying and he found the experience to be peaceful. As though he realized he had no regrets in his life, or, at least, the ones he did have he had already made peace with. I'm just glad I got to see Hogwarts one more time, he thought.

"Seems a bit odd though doesn't it?" Harry asked as Ron prompted him for an opinion.

"Of course it's odd," Ron replied. "It's a bloody trap."

"Oh." Harry wasn't sure what to say to that, assuming there was something to say at all. "Does that mean we should stay away?"

"Of course not," Ron said casually. "It just means we're going to go in prepared. I have to admit I didn't expect this of him, but, in retrospect, it makes perfect sense. He knows nothing about us, except that we're basically untrained students and that our only saving grace thus far has been our ability to hide in the shadows. As far as he's concerned, we're probably rubbish at duelling, and that there's probably not very many of us. I'm sure he's confident that he can take us in an open firefight. And doing so in the Ministry will mean causing lots of damage to the power center of his opposition."

"But we'll have the aurors on our side," Harry said. "Why in the world would he want to engage us there?"

"I'm sure he'll have done something to neutralize them, and he'll know we won't call on them. How can we? I mean, we'd have no idea if any of them were Death Eater spies. It wouldn't be strategically sound. No, we'll go in and take them on. That is, if you think you can handle the Dark Lord." Ron turned an expectant gaze to his best friend.

"Yeah, I reckon I can," replied Harry. "Funny though. I never figured it would turn out like this."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked, closing up his map and leaning against the desk he had been working on.

"You, me, Hermione." Harry waved a hand at the maps and memos that adorned the walls of their old Charms classroom. "All of this. Hell, even the battle that's coming up. For awhile, I seriously figured that it would take a human sacrifice to stop old Voldy. You know, like with my parents. I figured we'd all be caught in some fool's trap by him, we'd all be tied up and sitting around like dead ducks with Death Eaters cackling evilly around us, in the dead of night, that we'd be swept out from Hogwarts under Dumbledore's nose. Like the end of fourth year. I figured maybe you'd both sacrifice your lives or something and then that would be it. He would screw up again, leaving me in the center of the mess of dead bodies and collapsing buildings."

Ron remained silent, sensing that, despite Harry's pause, he was not finished. Sure enough he continued, "Instead, it's like we've grown up. We're doing this on our own terms, with our eyes wide open. It's kind of anti-climactic."

Ron nodded. "I think I understand what you've mean. We've always been pawns in one way or another. But now we've taken control, and it's changed things."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "We've changed."

"For the better, I think."

"Yeah, for the better." Harry stood up straight and gazed intently at his friend of seven years, his first one ever. He extended one hand, which Ron took and squeezed. They were toy soldiers in a game whose completion was twenty years overdue.

"God's speed," Harry said solemnly.

"Indeed," he replied. "It's been a long while, old friend."

And so, there they stood, two soldiers in a war. One a leader; one a hero. It would not be long now.

A/N: hi all!

Some of you have suggested that the scene breaks and the time and space jumping have been disorienting. I've switched my scene break markers from lone asterisks to groups of dashes. Hopefully the emphasis will provide some clarity. Also, I admit that my stories in general tend to have recurring flaws. Critiquers often tell me that my stories are hard to follow, have obscurities and obfuscating elements. I have tried my best to minimize this shortcoming, and have reduced the number of breaks generally. (Well, that's not exactly true, as chapter twenty-seven is riddled with scene breaks, but there it's for a special reason). If it helps, all the events in this chapter can be conceived of as occurring on the same day.

For this story, I've tended to keep a buffer of about thirty thousand words between what I'm posting and what I'm writing, because it allows me to keep from backing myself into a corner. Often I'll have to jump back a chapter or two to modify a detail in order to maintain consistency, as I am often switching ideas on the fly. That, I can now say, is no longer an issue. The story is complete, save for a few administrative details. There's only twenty thousand words remaining, and the bulk of it is in the next chapter, which is the longest one to date. The only reason I'm not posting it right away, is simply to give you all an opportunity to comment. I don't believe I've mentioned it, but your feed back has been influential in shaping the events of this story. I had initially intended to make this a Harry/Ginny fic, but, clearly, in light of your responses, I altered the trajectory of the story to make it Harry/Minnie. I also intended to not write in Harry's misadventures in the alternate reality, but again, some of you asked for it. That, of course, tipped the story so that it's a lot more Harry-centric, which some of you also wanted. I think I've been rather sparing with my author's notes, and, in light of the looming conclusion, I thought I would take a moment to highlight how much I appreciate the time you've taken to stick with it this far and to take the time to communicate your thoughts about it.

That's all for now.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Six Characters in Search of a Duel

June 15 was the night it all went down.

Neville pulled his cloak about him as he huddled over a steaming cauldron in the old potions classroom. The dungeons had hardly been his first pick of locations to spend his time in, given that, even in the midst of summer it grew chilly at night, not to mention the years of bad memories he had on account of Snape. Still, there was hardly a better place in the castle to brew potions since most potions were better made in dark, cool, places with a consistent temperature year round. Now, though, he had grown to take comfort in the solitude. People had been bustling about all day, getting things ready. There was a feeling of energy in the air, the feeling that they were on the cusp of something enormous. It was final jeopardy.

Neville reflected on how strange it was that they had become key players in the fight against the Dark Lord. For him and for many others, the Dark Lord had been something of a bogeyman during his childhood. Sure, the thought of him had been scary, but it was also something intangible, something in history or out of a fantasy story and there had been this sense that the creature of nightmares had been confined to the pages of a book, that there was really nothing for it. And then, he had returned. Neville had felt it at the time, back on that warm summer day when Harry returned with Cedric's body, when Albus Dumbledore made the announcement to the entire school about the second rise of the Dark Lord, he had known somewhere in the back of his mind, in a place he dared not acknowledge, that the war would fall on their shoulders. The old crowd had their chance, and they failed. The fourteen year reprieve from the Dark Lord had only been a means to give them time to prepare. And now it was upon them. They, who were just children, being made to raise the flag of war against the practitioners of the dark arts. It all seemed so momentous, as though failure would mean the destruction of the world, as if failure would mean the fall of eternal darkness, the end of muggles, the end of light.

Neville felt the faint stir of the air as a person moved toward him. He knew it had to be Luna, for there was no one else in Hogwarts who could maneuver with so much stealth. Just as Harry was a natural with a broom, Luna was a natural with her ability to make herself unseen, to go unnoticed by all but the most keen of observers. Neville had grown accustomed to this peculiarity of hers, just as he had grown accustomed to all the other peculiarities that came along with Luna Lovegood.

Silently and gently she came up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist, hugging him, giving him silent comfort for the tumult of emotions that were warring within him. Only she knew.

Neville continued to stir the contents of his cauldron as the potion cooled, acknowledgment of her presence coming only in the form of the slight stiffening of his shoulders. Since the loss of his hand, he had taken to using the potions room as his own private refuge and had jealously guarded his time there, even from intrusion by his friends. Even from Luna.

Tentatively, she leaned her head against his shoulder, so that he could feel both the pressure and the heat from her body that much more acutely. She sighed. And then, after a moment of being held like that, Neville felt the press of her body against his disappear, leaving a vacancy, the warmth receding and the cold rushing in to steal that which had been made between them. "Good luck, Neville Longbottom." she said softly in his ear.

Neville gave no notice that he heard her - a tribute to his newly developed occlumancy shields. The potion was sufficiently cool now, its contents sufficiently mixed. He supposed he should have known he couldn't fool her. Just as he had grown so adept at reading her, feeling her presence from a distance, she too had grown adept at reading him, feeling him from a distance. Neville didn't bother bottling the potion. There really wasn't that much of it anyway, and he only made it to serve for a single dose. One which he now took, ladling it up with a serving spoon and gently drinking it. He felt a chill run through him as the potion took effect. He glanced in a mirror to make sure it had taken effect properly. It had. He was now invisible. By the time he was done, and turned around to go, having vanished the remaining contents of the cauldron, he noted with a mix of despair and hope that Luna had departed already. The activation of the portkeys was imminent now.

"I DON'T CARE HOW DANGEROUS IT IS!" Minnie shrieked, picking up a copy of Unfogging the Future and throwing it across the room so that it whacked into Harry's shoulder. "YOU ARE IN NO WAY SHAPE OR FORM LEAVING ME BEHIND!"

"Minnie," Harry began in the most pleading tone he could manage, his hands held up before him in supplication. "Minnie, please..."

"DON'T YOU MINNIE ME! DON'T YOU DARE!"

Another book arced its way across the kitchen, this time missing Harry completely and landing in a bowl of leftover gumbo.

Goddamn fucking hell, Harry thought tiredly. What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?

The 'discussion' had started out with a simple outline of the nightly venture. Harry was going to go duel Voldemort. It seemed simple enough. There would be phoenix soldiers there, probably duelling Voldemort's minions, and there would be vampires and werewolves too. He, of course, wouldn't be terribly concerned with any of that, instead, conserving his energy for the battle with Voldemort. It seemed simple enough, at least to Harry, and certainly he thought nothing of it when he explained the situation to Minnie over a an iced mocha latte. She was a sucker for chocolate and coffee.

And then it had started. She had seemed so excited, so eager, so energetic. Her eyes had been alight with that warmth, that that child-like, naive innocence that Harry was beginning to grow fond of. And then the question came. She leaned close and asked, "So what do I get to do?"

Now, at this point, it should be noted that, while Harry has had difficulty in the past understanding women, he was not a complete idiot and had managed to pick up a thing or two. He knew, for instance, that the question had a certain implied answer. That is to say, the question rested on the assumption that there was, in fact, something productive for Minnie to do. And so, in those precious few seconds between her question and his response, his mind raced like a bat out of hell through all the possible, menial tasks that he could possibly assign to her in order to appease her and keep her out of the way. Alas, he just wasn't that quick on his feet, when it came to these sorts of things.

"Er, nothing?"

Oh, how painful it was to watch the transformation from unrestrained jubilation to... consternation. And then, from consternation to annoyance, which swiftly morphed into God-like wrath. And the worst part about it was that he knew it was coming; he saw it coming from a good fifty feet away and found himself completely unable to stop it.

"Nothing?" she repeated, her soft tone belying the dangerous tortures that awaited the poor sod that dared to cross paths with her.

"er, well, maybe we could get you to-"

"Nothing?" she repeated, cutting him off, her mind attempting to process the meaning of the word, as though it held deep secrets to the meaning of life.

"Well, no, nothing," he said, back-peddling at a speed that would make Olympic gold medalists proud. "I mean I just hadn't thought of anything in particular."

"You hadn't thought of anything?" she echoed, a dangerous hiss beneath her words forming.

And so it went. Minnie was angry. Minnie was indignant.

"I CAN BE USEFUL!" she wailed, throwing the last weapon at her disposal, a pillow in the shape of Winnie-the-Pooh. "I SWEAR I CAN BE!" And with that last proclamation, she broke into sobs, hiccupping and holding herself afraid she might break.

Seeing her like that, Harry couldn't help but go to her and hold her before she collapsed to the ground. He enfolded her tightly in his arms, making shushing noises and gently rubbing her back in circular patterns. "Shh, Minnie. It's okay. It's okay."

"It's not okay!" she said through a stream of sniffles, her tears soaking through Harry's Egyptian style three hundred twenty thread cotton t-shirt. "I'm bloody useless."

"No you're not," Harry coaxed softly. "You're not useless. You're as far from useless as humanly possible."

"I am?" she asked, the rate of her sniffles decreasing. She looked up into Harry's eyes, her silver ones practically glowing through her tears.

"I promise," he affirmed, cupping her cheek in one hand and gently wiping away a tear.

"But I can't do magic," she said mournfully.

"Of course you can," he said, smiling.

"Really?" She brightened considerably. "Can I make things float?"

"Er, no," he said in a regretful tone. "I'm afraid you can't make things float, Minnie."

"Oh."

"But did you know, love is a form of magic."

"Love?" she asked, her voice full of doubt. "What kind of magic can you do with that?"

Harry just smiled some more. "Didn't I ever tell you?

"Tell me what?" she asked, still trying to figure out the magic-love connection, if her furrowed brow were any indication.

"Love's what my mum used to protect me from the Dark Lord. It was so powerful that not even he could harm me. In fact, it vapourized him. Twice, in fact."

"Hmm," Minnie said, clearly unimpressed. "Didn't she die doing that?"

"Er, well, yes," he admitted reluctantly.

"Oh phooey!" Minnie said, stamping her foot on the ground. "I want to make things float! And make things go poof! Like the way you made that squashy leather armchair just sort of poof up out of nothing."

Harry sighed and counted slowly to ten. Eventually, he said, "Listen, I'm heading off to go take care of business. I'll see you tonight, okay?"

"Yeah, fine," she muttered, pulling away from his embrace and heading off to the bedroom of the small muggle flat they had commandeered so that Minnie could be stashed away with relative safety until Harry returned.

"All right, on the count of three," Ron said, taking hold of an ordinary looking quill. Luna and Katie followed suit, along with Susan, Hannah, Ernie, Dean, Dennis, Collin, Terry, Sue, Susan and a handful of others. Harry had elected to make his way to the Ministry on his own. "Just remember to keep in your groups. Keep your eyes on your targets, stay focused, and remember, this time it's shoot to kill. If it's someone you don't recognize, use the .22 and aim for a non-vital. If they show signs of poisoning, then you know you're dealing with either a vampire, or a werewolf, and chances are they're on the Dark Lord's side. Take them out and move on."

His soldiers all nodded, affirming his words. Ron took a deep breath and went on, "In all likelihood, this is it. This is the battle we've been moving towards since the beginning, since this whole Goddamned mess started. I won't lie and say it doesn't matter whether we win or lose. This is not a Quidditch game." He paused and surveyed his troops, carefully choosing his next words. "It's a war. One we've been fighting for a long time now. For years even. It's a war that's been passed down to us from our fathers and our mothers, our uncles and our aunts. I won't lie to you. It's brutal. Most of you know that already. I like to think that the thing that makes us different from the Death Eaters, the thing that's going to give us the edge in this fight is that we know we'll watch each others backs. Death Eaters are Slytherins to the core. They will turn on one another if it suits them. I know to expect from each and every one of you that you'll do your Goddamnedest to bring us each back alive and healthy. I also expect that, if one of us doesn't come back, then none of us come back." Ron stopped again to stare each one in the eyes before he said his final words. "We're all strong. In body and in spirit. Never forget that. Tonight, we're going to do things that are ugly. That most would wish we never had to do, but we're going to do it anyway. I'm telling you now. I'm bloody ordering it of you - that you do not show them any quarter. Show them no mercy. Look to your comrades to your left, and look to the ones to your right. If you show these motherfuckers mercy, then chances are, you'll be helping torture and murder your friends. Remember that." Ron paused yet again, and then, just before they left, he decided to say one final thing. "If one of you runs away tonight, then you will have failed not only me, and your friends and the light side, but your House as well, for you would have to be a coward to flee, and you would have to be disloyal. And, most of all, you would have to be really stupid. You would have to be stupid to think that the Dark Lord wouldn't get you eventually. Not that it would matter, for, if I survive tonight, then I'll hunt down any of those who betrayed us here." Seeing the resolve and the defiance and the anger that his words evoked, Ron just smiled a feral smile and nodded. "Good, let's go."

And with that, they raised their portkeys into the air and all cried out in unison, "FREEDOM!"

Harry stood bathed in the light of the setting sun, concrete shadows pooling around him like dementors, his hair mussed, his emerald eyes glistening, the taste of exhaust fumes billowing about in the breeze that made his t-shirt flutter.

"What troubles you so, master?" Bono asked, flicking its forked tongue, its yellow eyes dripping with magic as it gazed about, idly killing off insects, rats and stray dogs.

"My journey is coming to an end," he said calmly, only the barest hint of sadness evident in his voice. He sighed quietly.

"Is that not a good thing? You can rest, master. We will retire to some place where there is grass and trees. It will be quiet. I can hunt."

Harry smiled at the vision of life that Bono was supplying. It sounded both peaceful and rhythmic. He supposed that what disturbed him about that picture was just how foreign it felt, like it were a dream that wasn't his, or that there was a shadow lurking in the midst that he was supposed to be seeing. "I've just been on this road so long, I'm not sure I know of anything else."

"You will learn, master."

"Yeah, I reckon I will."

"You and your lady friend," Bono added, a hint of something teasing in his voice.

"Yeah, me and my lady friend." Harry turned his gaze away from the blood red light that encircled the sun as it descended between two large buildings, one of which being part of the Ministry of Magic. He gazed down at his new familiar. "I have asked something of you, Bono."

"Indeed you have," the basilisk agreed.

Are you still prepared to do it?"

Bono merely nodded his head.

"Good. Tonight is the night."

"I know, master. I feel it in the air."

Harry smiled. "Your magic is one of a kind, Bono."

"That it is."

"How long do you reckon it'll take?"

Bono considered the question carefully, knowing that accuracy and precision were critical to Harry's plans. Finally, it said, "Give me two hours."

Harry nodded. "All right, then. If you feel safe completing the task in that time, then I will head down only after the completion of the second hour."

"It will be enough."

"Do not forget that she is no ordinary snake. Her master has given her the gift of his own intelligence, his own memories, his own mind. She will be ruthless and cunning, and she will have her mind protected from the same superior occlumancy shields that the Dark Lord has."

"I understand, master. I shan't fail you. Take faith in me."

"Of course I do, Bono. Go forth then. Kill Nagini, and all that stands in your way."

Bono nodded one last time before silently slithering away, down the cement walk, keeping to the shadows, its piercing yellow eyes watching as it moved forward towards Technoparc. Harry glanced down at his wrist to check the time, only to mutter a curse under his breath. "Damn tournament," he lamented, before apparating away to the nearest watch retailer.

The Ministry of Magic was as quiet as a tomb. Its halls were empty, unusually so, since there usually were a few stragglers who had decided to burn the midnight oil, as it were. On this evening, however, there was in fact, nobody in the building. Much like it was the day Harry led five intrepid Hogwarts students on a raid to free his godfather years prior. That, of course, all changed soon enough.

At precisely eight o'clock, Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters apparated directly into the Ministry's main lobby. All was silent, save for the cracks of incoming wizards.

Voldemort made a quick scan of the attendees, making sure that all forty had arrived, all in standard black cloaks with their customary masks in place. At the head of the group were his six ever-faithful inner circle members, while Hermione Granger was at the back, covering the rear in case there were any ambushes. Voldemort's considerable senses told him that nothing was amiss. So they have not arrive then, he mused, stroking his pale chin.

"Death Eaters," he said, letting his gaze sweep over them. "You have your tasks. Go now, and do not fail me."

The Death Eaters all made a swift, tight nod before breaking up into small groups and heading to the lifts. Soon, the vast repositories of knowledge at the Ministry of Magic would all be destroyed. Everything from the archives to the research, to the prophecies. All of it, slashed to ribbons, shattered, incinerated. Voldemort understood that institutions like the Ministry of Magic derived its strength not from the individuals but from their output. By striking at their knowledge-base, he would cripple them in a way that assassinations and tortures would never be able to achieve. Already having at his disposal the cornerstone of wizarding Britain's finances through his venerable pureblood followers, the destruction of the Ministry's vast data collection and archival system would grind their operations to a halt. From there, key assassinations would simply pave the way for the ascension of his followers to the highest ranks of the Ministry. Within three months, his power-base within the Ministry would be solidified, whereupon he could effectuate laws that would advantage his cause, centralize and consolidate power within his grip. It was merely a bonus that, tonight, the muggle-loving upstarts that had dared oppose him would be crushed, thinning out the ranks of his future opponents. It was, all in all, too much to ask for, but he knew it could be done. After all, he was Lord Voldemort. Who among them could possibly challenge him? Especially when he still had his vampires and werewolves, the bulk of whom were set to arrive upon his signal. They may have developed tools to fight wizards, relying on their muggle toys, but they couldn't possibly be prepared for the onslaught of the undead.

Eight thirty.

Ron, Dean, Collin, Dennis and Katie found themselves digging their heels into the ground in the center of the Hall of Prophecies. They formed a tight ring, their backs to one another, each of them carrying a pistol in one hand, a wand in the other as they stared down the twenty or so vampires that now lurked amongst the shelves. Some of them were visible, others weren't. One glided down from overhead, effectively forming a five-way pincer with them in the shadows all around.

"Fire at will," Ron said in a tightly controlled voice. He put a bullet through the head of the vampire overhead, sending it crashing down in the small, empty space at the center of their ring. Suddenly, as if triggering the powderkeg, vampires from all corners converged on them, moving with their customary lightning speed. Just as swiftly, twenty rounds were fired in the span of a single second, blowing chunks of flesh off their bodies, blood spattering, black veins forming wherever the poisoned bullets struck home, stopping half the vampires in their tracks to double over in fiery agony as the unicorn essence seeped through their bodies. In a flash, ten vampires were downed before they broke through the quintet's defenses.

"Ergh," Ron grunted as a vampire impacted with his chest, causing him to stagger back and trip over the dead body of a vampire. He twisted in mid-fall, swinging the gun around and plugging three quick bullets into the creature's torso, one of them exiting through the creature's back and nicking another oncoming vampire in the cheek before the bullet vanished in mid-flight.

"Collin, behind you!" cried Dennis, who Ron briefly noticed out of the periphery of his vision was being lifted into the air and thrown bodily into one of the shelves. He picked himself up, but before he could fire another shot, the vampire in front of him lunged forward and swiped at his hand, cutting into the skin of his palm as the gun was batted to the side. "Arbrum reducto," said Ron, a wooden stake erupting from his wand and impaling the creature. Ron summoned a collection of four prophecies in his direction, each of them impacting on a gaggle of vampires' heads, stunning them briefly as their heads clouded over with misty images of apparitions that were speaking in creepy tones.

"What the-?" one asked, his life swiftly extinguished as Ron pumped him full of .22 caliber rounds while simultaneously discharging wooden stakes at his friends. Gore and blood pooled around them, not that Ron noticed as he whirled around, gun and wand smoking, Dennis on the floor knocked out, a deep gash along his throat that was swiftly spilling blood. His other companions seemed to have moved down the aisles, and he could see that Katie was sporting an injured arm, her wand now put away, while Dean and Collin were missing altogether.

Ron did a quick body count. There seemed to be about twenty bodies down. Any others would seek to strike in stealth. Ron thus knelt before Dennis and examined his wound. It was rather severe, but he was confident he would be all right. Swiftly sealing the wound with his wand, Ron then proceeded to administer a blood replenishing potion, all the while looking around. The sudden rush of battle had exhilarated him, and the adrenaline that had begun coursing through his veins was in full swing. The quiet report of a gun caught his attention, drawing his gaze to the side, where he saw Katie pointing it at some place overhead. Sure enough, there was a vampire hiding in the shadows looking down upon him, blood now dripping out of his smashed up face. He gave her a thumbs up and finished ministering to Dennis, who he quickly enervated.

"S'okay," Ron said softly, keeping a firm hand down on Dennis's torso as he struggled to consciousness, his mind still awash with the battle. "You got your wand?" Ron asked.

"Er, yeah," Dennis replied quietly, now looking around.

"Good," Ron said, letting go and standing up and giving Dennis a helping hand, which he took.

"They dispatched?"

Ron shrugged. "A whole whack of them are, yeah. Still more, I reckon. C'mon." The two met up with Katie, who was breathing hard, and, upon closer inspection, Ron noticed that there was some heavy bruising around her abdomen.

"Fuckers got a mean kick," she said, wheezing. "Vest's kept me alive."

"You need to get back to the infirmary," Ron said, gently touching her torso. "Looks broken."

Katie waved away his words with a hand. "I can still fight."

"You're returning right away," said Ron. "And you too, Dennis. You can come back together. No buts about it." He shoved a portkey into her hand and whispered the activation word before she could let go of it, thus sending her and Dennis away with a slight popping sound. Ron conjured a handful of sparrow patroni and sent them out in all directions, searching both for friends and for foe. One came back and led him to an injured vampire that was nursing a fractured arm in the shadows. Ron put a bullet in its head without hesitating before turning around to see three patroni whirling around another vampire, this one with a broken leg, who had been limping towards him, the patroni trying to distract him long enough for Ron to become aware of the creature's presence. It hissed viciously as Ron raised his gun. He pulled the trigger, and the creature collapsed to the ground dead.

After a thorough search of the hall, Ron, Dean and Collin made their way across the glass littered floor en route to another room.

"Avada kedavra," came the voice of an unknown Death Eater somewhere to their left. Immediately, one of Ron's sparrows dived in the way, intercepting the curse, the two annihilating one another in the process. The Death Eater was momentarily stunned and therefore did nothing when all three of them whirled around and fired rounds into his chest, blowing apart his thorax cavity and causing a slight fizzing sound from the depressurization. Two curses hit them in the back, one a bone-shattering curse and another a reductor. Ron was pitched forward from the force, but managed to turn around in mid-fall and fire off another four swift rounds, satisfied when he saw the bullet pass right through the Death Eater's magical shield and hit him right in the heart. Collin and Dean dispatched another two Death Eaters that had crept up around the side of the nearest shelf. Without being given a second to enjoy their victory, they found all the glass orbs around them exploding in a fit of shards and smoke and wispy vaporous figures chanting ominously, their words all fusing together to form an incoherent cacophony.

Ron instinctively rolled over to one side, his body coming up against Collin's as he peered through the mass of ghostly images. Not sure who was all where, he silently fired off a pair of stunners, one of them hitting another prophecy in the distance, as he heard the glass shatter. Quickly, he scrambled to his feet, and just managed to throw himself out of the way of a killing curse, conjuring up a shield to block yet another one. Two Death Eaters, he thought, grimly, the prophecies now starting to fade. He heard the distinct sound of silenced gunfire and felt warm, sticky blood splatter across his face. Looking up, he saw a vampire collapsing in front of him.

Damn, he thought, still aware that there were two Death Eaters about. Ron rolled out of the way and scanned around, searching for Dean and the two assailants. Collin seemed to be out cold on the floor. With a wide, sweeping gesture with his wand, he conjured a sea of patronus flowers that blanketed the surrounding area. He hoped he had conjured enough light magic to negate dark magic usage generally. It would depend on the strength of his opponents.

They didn't seem to be anywhere. From his left, he heard the Death Eater incant the killing curse, and to his relief, there was no green light. "Accio invisibility cloak," Ron said," pointing his wand in the direction of the sound of the voice. Sure enough, a shimmering silver object came flying off a Death Eater, knocking him over in the process as the cloak extricated itself from his body. Before Ron could snatch it, however, another person incanted the bone shattering curse, and Ron dived forward, flattening himself to the ground as the curse flew by overhead. Ron rolled over and fired two quick rounds in the direction of the Death Eater, but he had already moved away. The first one tried the killing curse again, but it still did not work. However, the mere attempt seemed to call enough dark magic to him that it was wilting the patronus flowers, and Ron knew he couldn't rely on it a third time. "Arbrum reducto," he said, sending a wooden stake at the Death Eater, who easily side-stepped it and returned with the bone shattering curse yet again. The curse hit him directly in the chest, again the vest absorbing the brunt of the spell, leaving Ron free and clear to send off a retaliatory hex without breaking stride. "Flambé," Ron said, internally wincing at his own stupidity and cursing his mother for forcing all those stupid cooking spells on him. Oddly enough, though, it struck home and seemed to do the trick, because the Death Eater began screaming in pain as he was roasted to a nice, golden brown through and through.

From behind him, he heard Dean ask if he were all right. Ron nodded and said, "Yeah." Dean helped him to his feet, Ron wincing as he felt the bruises underneath his flak jacket. "You took out the other guy?" Ron asked. Dean nodded. Ron noticed, however, that he didn't have his wand out, and Ron gave him a questioning look.

Dean grimaced. "Had to chuck it in the way of the killing curse," he explained. "Damned scariest thing I ever did in my whole life, coming face to face with that curse." He then shrugged. "I can't thank you enough for making us learn to do that."

Ron nodded in acknowledgment of the compliment. "Yeah, well, it once saved a Death Eater's life. Figured it had to be pretty useful."

Dean smiled. "Except that I'm out of a wand."

"Take one of their wands," Ron said, pointing to the dead Death Eater. Dean went over and tried to pick it up, only to yelp in pain and let it fall back to the ground. Curiously, Ron joined him and kneeled down, tentatively touching the wand and, feeling the sharp burning shock at the contact, gently rolled it over using his wand tip and examined the wood. At the base there was a peculiar marking, which Ron could only guess at being a rune. He looked up at Dean and said, "Doesn't look like we're going to get to use Death Eater wands tonight. Go back to HQ and get a spare one. Take him with you and return when you two are ready. Don't come alone." Ron pointed at Collin, who was lying unconscious, his breathing shallow. He looked to be in a bad way, judging from the angle of his limbs and the pallor of his skin.

Dean did so, and, suddenly, Ron realized that he was alone. As proficient a fighter as he was, he knew that it was extremely hard for one person to take on more than two opponents. He himself wouldn't have survived nearly as long as he had without the pistols, the Kevlar vest, and his patronus wand.

Still, he was a Gryffindor and not one to back down, even if it were the sensible option. As such, he moved forward, taking care to fire off rounds as he whirled around corners, keeping patroni fluttering about him at all times to watch his back as he searched the Hall of Prophecies for anymore enemies. When he found none, he breathed a momentary sigh of relief before making his way to the next room. Only after walking through the door and peering about did he realize just exactly where he was. The veil room.

Down at the center stood the Colonel, her gaze fixed on the arch, a pensive expression on her face. She cast a reductor curse at the thing, her expression growing more thoughtful as it impacted on the stone and fizzled away.

She's trying to figure out how to destroy it, Ron thought. Curious, I wonder why. Then again, the vampires were in the process of shattering prophecy orbs when they had come across them in the Hall of Prophecies. As Ron took a moment to study her, he felt a sudden tingling sensation, as though his magic were coming in contact with a familiar taste. Before he could reflect on it, he saw Hermione walking around the other side of the veil. There's two of them, he thought grimly. He figured he had an even chance of beating either one or the other in a duel, but the pair of them together... Go get back up, the rational part of his mind instructed him. However, he did not move.

It did not take long for the two women to notice him. The Colonel remained emotionless, while Hermione just smirked.

Here comes the taunting, Ron thought, keeping a grip on his pistol. However, words, it seemed, were not going to be exchanged. Both of them gave each other a quick glance before firing off a volley of hard spells, including two cruciatuses, one killing curse and a smattering of cutting hexes. The duel had begun.

Neville fingered the portkey as it dropped him in one of the lower levels of the Ministry. He looped the chain around his neck and let it drop under his shirt. It would not do for others to see the curious object that could be used to trace the PA's operations back to Hogwarts. All around him, there were a number of directions he could go, and, despite it all, there was a persistent silence that was distinctly unnerving. Neville had decided a long time ago, long before he met Luna Lovegood, long before he joined the Phoenix Army, that, if there were a way, he would do this one thing. He would put an end to Bellatrix Lestrange's life. Even if it meant sacrificing his own. It was a funny feeling, knowing that you were prepared to die for something as emotionally unhealthy as revenge. He had never given Luna any illusions that this one task, this one driving motivation that had taken residence in his mind and his heart trumped all other considerations. He supposed that she, out of everyone he knew, would be the only one to understand that it came as part of the Longbottom package. Never once had she tried to change him, and for that he was grateful.

Neville eventually found Bella in courtroom number ten. She was in the process of reducing all the benches, chairs podiums and boxes to splintered ruins. It took Neville a moment to understand why it was that she seemed so gleeful about destroying what was a strategically useless place. Ah, he thought, realization dawning on him. This is the courtroom where she was sentenced to Azkaban. She must really have gone around the bend, then. No matter, she's still a menace and still guilty.

Unable to cast more than a simple lumos with his non-dominant hand, Neville had been rendered pretty much a squib thanks to Hermione's liberal use of raw dark energy. It was kind of ironic, really, since it had only been in the last year or so that he had managed to scrape acceptable marks and had been able to become a productive member of the PA. And within a few months, the things he had finally strived to master for so long, the things that made him feel worthwhile in the world had been cruelly torn from him.

As he stood there, silently watching the one who tormented his parents, he reflected on the long Christmas days spent in the anti-septic calm of the Janis Thickey ward. He remembered the chill feel of his own embarrassment during his fifth year when his classmates had seen his parents like that. He remembered spying from the shadows when he was five, his uncle Algie and his grandmother discussing what traumatic experience to inflict upon him to galvanize his magic, and he remembered slinking away back to his bedroom, stunned at what they planned to do. Terrified and wanting nothing more than his mother and his father to hold him. He remembered feeling weak and pathetic and crying and berating himself, because he knew he would never have a parent. No one would ever tell him they loved him, would coo softly to him and hold him in a warm embrace when he had something as childish as a nightmare. He remembered wanting to grow up as quickly as possible, but not knowing how. He did not know how to cut himself from those wants that would never be satisfied.

I'm worth ten of you, Bellatrix Lestrange, Neville thought fiercely, a tear coming to his eye as he watched the devil of his childhood nightmares prance around amidst the pools of floating dust. I'm worth ten of you. Neville pulled out the .38 caliber pistol and aimed it at her, all the while she was oblivious to his presence. For a moment, he wasn't sure he was going to be able to hold the gun steady, even after all the training, all the life-sized Bellatrix Lestrange replicas he had blown apart in the room of requirement. It would be a fitting end if I missed, he thought bitterly, absently noting that he had bitten his tongue somewhere in the last few minutes. The tang of blood, the sting of the wound felt alive to him, somehow. It made him feel real.

Bellatrix stopped casting spells, seeming to be satisfied with her handiwork. "Take that, Ministry!" she exclaimed, pumping her fist in the air. It struck Neville as being odd, because it seemed like such a childish gesture. It was incongruous with the image of a crazed terrorist and sadistic torturer.

No matter, he thought grimly, undoing the safety on the pistol. None of it matters now.

Bellatrix paused in her survey of the room, and Neville could see a frown creasing her smile. She cast about as if looking for something before turning in a slow circle, eventually coming to face Neville. She looked quizzically in his direction as if searching for something, as if sensing him. Not that she would find anything, he knew. He had so little magic in him, he hardly would register in the Ministry on her magical sense charms, and he was motionless. He had learned just enough occlumancy to keep hidden from prying eyes. He wondered if maybe they shared a connection with one another, like the way Harry had with Voldemort.

"Hello?" she asked, her eyes locking with his, though she didn't know it.

It's now or never, he thought, idly caressing the trigger with his index finger. It's now or never.

Bellatrix seemed to shake herself, as if from a trance and proceeded to take one final glance at the carnage she had inflicted on the room that had brought her and Harry Potter, oddly enough, so much anxiety.

Neville pulled the trigger. Silently, the bullet was discharged from the gun, its magical essences occluded by the Kevlar shielding. Still, Bellatrix seemed to sense it coming, for she turned back to face him, locking gazes with him once more as the bullet made its silent way across the space between them. And then, in a flash, it hit, plunging into her heart with the kind of sudden, blunt force such that it took several seconds for her brain to process that she had been fatally wounded. She looked down at her body, even as she took a staggered step backward, blood now soaking through her clothes and dripping down the wound, her heart pumping blood out of her body. She still didn't seem to comprehend what had happened, how it was that she had been wounded so. She merely stared at the wound for a long time before looking up and locking her gaze with Neville's for a third and final time. She seemed to want to speak, but no words came out. Instead, she simply mouthed one word, which Neville found he could make out: Longbottom.

Neville fired two more rounds, which mangled her torso, and caused her to crumple to the ground dead. Now that it was done, he felt as though it were rather dissatisfying. Not really knowing why he wanted to do it, Neville walked up to her body and aimed his gun yet again. He then proceeded to depress the trigger, letting one bullet discharge and hit her carcass. Still not feeling satisfied. Neville fired another shot. And then another. He kept firing shots, one at a time, for what seemed like several minutes. After the sixtieth round, at which point she was no longer recognizable as human, Neville stopped and stepped away, holstering his gun and surveying his handiwork. Was he satisfied? Yes, he thought so.

It was done.

Luna and Katie fitted themselves with flak jackets and walked out of the hospital wing.

"You ready?" Katie asked, lighting a cigarette with a Zippo and inhaling before holding out the non-descript ring that was to serve as their portkey.

Luna merely nodded.

"All right. Let's rock." Katie took one final drag before tossing the smoke to the ground and snuffing it out with the tip of her steel-toed boot. Luna touched a finger to the portkey and Katie activated the transport device by annunciating clearly one word. "Kilgore."

They disappeared from Hogwarts and reappeared in the auror complex inside the Ministry. Already drawing their wands, they began rapid firing rounds into the vampires, Death Eaters and werewolves that were all around them.

In about ten seconds, they'd mowed down ten opponents before their enemies had the sense to duck for cover. Immediately, they were assaulted with no less than five killing curses, which Luna aptly dispatched by firing bullets into their pathway, demonstrating inhumanly precise marksmanship as she continued to press the assault on the hapless Death Eaters.

"Accio!" cried one of the Death Eaters, sticking his wand out from between an ink blotter and a quill holder. "Protago," Luna said, sounding almost bored as she deflected the summoning charm that was meant to deprive her of her gun. She turned the weapon to the death Eater, who had not realized that the bullets would shoot clean through the cheap particle board crap that the desks were made of. As such, his face was smashed into by three bullets before his body jerked backwards, his entire skull exploding and sending globs of grey, wet fleshy material everywhere.

Vampires, who were known for their notorious persistence, made a suicide dive attempt on Luna. She picked off the first one of five with three bullets that tore through its neck, effectively decapitating it. It gurgled a cry of futile rage before collapsing in a heap. Luna managed to hit the next one in line clean in the head, its eyes rolling about as its life spilled from it, and, before it collapsed to the ground, she then proceeded to fire rounds into the third vampire, while, at the same time, discharging wooden stakes at the fourth, one of which impaled the creature through its mouth, skull and brain fragments flying out the back of its head and into the fifth vampire, who, in a rage, hurled itself over the final distance and came down on top of Luna, who, showing still more uncanny virulence, cleaved it in two with a powerful cutting hex, causing gastro-intestinal juices to come pouring down atop her head as its body parts crashed limply around her.

A Death Eater appeared from behind a bookshelf, terror painting every one of his aristocratic features. He threw his wand to the ground and said, "I give up! I surrender."

Luna just smiled sweetly. "Of course you do." And then, in what would have seemed like an uncharacteristic gesture to those who didn't know her, she pulled the trigger of her pistol yet again and vaporized the Death Eater's head in a shower of still more bouts of brains and bones and blood.

Katie, while not quite as proficient as her partner, was still doing a decent job of shredding her opponents to bits. Never once letting go of the trigger of her gun, she just continued discharging an endless stream of lethal rounds at all her opponents. She couldn't claim to do that neat trick that Luna could do where she picked off curses with bullets, but that didn't mean Katie was a slouch. No, it just meant that she had to move a little more smoothly and with a little more grace, which she did.

"Avada kedavra."

"Avada kedavra."

"Avada kedavra."

At the same time as the three killing curses were sent off, four vampires came plunging down towards her from overhead, their arms reaching out to her like mindless inferi.

Katie collapsed to the ground, expertly performing a roll that put her out of the way of the three curses and the four vampires. One of them actually took the curse full on in the chest. The creature, which Katie thought was soulless, and thus immune to the dreaded curse, proved to experience unusual effects. The vampire's eyes bulged out of its sockets until they cracked and began bleeding, and then, in a fit of seizures, it exploded, sending pungent bits of itself in all directions. Katie turned her wand on herself and muttered, "Impervio," while promptly firing off several rounds into the vampires that were preparing to pounce. She downed to of them in a spray of bullets that turned them into bloodied carcasses. The fourth leapt over the gunfire and came crashing down on top of her, and taking a chunk of her arm with a swipe of its vicious claws. Bucking hard, she rolled the creature off, following suit by rolling on top of him and continuing to sideways somersault them until she caught the sight of incoming spellfire out of the periphery of her vision, at which point she suffered through a gash in the side of her neck in order to lift the creature in the air so that its head came into contact with a bone shattering curse. Immediately, its head partly exploded, with bone fragments jutting out of its skin at all angles as it lolled about drunkenly. Katie threw it carelessly to the floor before leaning over and, without hesitating, began firing still more rounds into the direction of the Death Eaters. One of them poked his head out at the wrong time and got a face full of bullets.

Jumping to her feet and sidestepping two more curses, she made a quick dash for their positions. One of them caught her with the cruciatus, but not before she fired off a round that hit the Death Eater in the throat, causing a wild spurt of blood to coat the upturned desk he had been using as cover. The last of them, seeing his chance to attack while Katie was still recovering from the cruciatus, fired off the killing curse, which hit dead on. Both of them froze in horror as Katie was hit, but, after a moment of expecting to die, she merely blinked and looked down. The Death Eater bit his lip furiously as the realization of what had happened filtered through his brain.

"You can't cast it?" Katie said aloud, incredulous. "You're just some fucking dumbass who can't cast the goddamned killing curse? Jesus fuck me." Katie got to her feet and pointed her wand at the still stunned and embarrassed Death eater and said, "Diffindo." The cutting hex went clean through his throat, his head rolling off to one side and his neck spouting off bubbles of blood as his body fell lifeless to the floor. "What a loser," she said, going up to his body and kicking it for good measure. "Goddamned, fucking recruits," she said, still shaking her head. "Where the fuck's the challenge?"

Just then, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange entered the room, their gazes sweeping over the carnage that Luna and Katie had wreaked upon the recruits.

"Well," Rabastan drawled, eyeing the two girls speculatively. Luna sidled up next to Katie and gave her a tight nod.

"S'pose you boys want to play," Katie called back, idly twirling the pistol in her hand.

The Lestrange brothers took two steps apart from one another and then raised their wands, their black cloaks billowing about them ominously. "Yeah, we do," was the only response that came back to the girls.

They duelled.

Despite the fall of darkness over Britain, the sky over Technoparc still shone with blood red light. Bono approached, his body smoothly navigating the cracked rocks and weeds and carcasses of vultures strewn about the fields that surrounded Voldemort's playground. Even from here, he could sense the Dark Lord's familiar, Nagini. She was indeed powerful, as Harry had warned. Her blood red eyes seemed to pierce the curtain of darkness as though she were searching for him. It was decidedly unnerving. Still Bono remained resolved to forge ahead, determined not to let Harry Potter down. Tonight, Bono would kill Nagini or die trying.

He felt the distinct sizzle of his skin as it contacted with the wards at the edge of the terrible city. It felt as though it were trying to eat him and squeeze him at the same time, but Bono was not deterred. He simply pushed ahead, its eight foot long body moving inexorably towards the Four Seasons, where Bono felt Nagini waiting.

Technoparc's streets were alive with all manner of creatures, ranging from vampires to werewolves to inferi. The chewed up, half-eaten, mutilated bodies of muggles were strewn about as the various dark creatures revelled in their own madness. The cement was stained with dried blood. One of the vampire's got too close, and Bono simply lashed at it with its powerful tail, breaking the creature's ribs and sending it sprawling to the asphalt, all the while Bono hissing invectives at it. A werewolf moved forward, its growl low, but Bono only spared it a glance, its yellow eyes boring into the dark creature and effectively striking it dead. The sentient creatures around seemed to understand that something foreign and powerful was amidst them, and they wisely receded into the darkness to continue muggle hunting. Some of the inferi dared to approach Bono, but they were quickly dispatched with the same efficient ease, Bono using his powerful tail to break their bones, and using his powerful jaws to sever heads.

Before long, he slithered up to the gates of the five star hotel, pausing only once to peer through the windows in search of signs of life. There was nothing, and so Bono pushed through the front doors. He expanded his legilimantic sense and, once feeling Nagini on the fifteenth floor, proceeded to climb the steps. Taking them one at a time, Bono made his way slowly to the top of the tower.

She feels me, Bono thought. She is waiting.

Despite the fact that it was a grueling trial making it up fifteen flights, it seemed to come to an end all too quickly. Bono moved down the hall until he reached the Presidential Suite. With another thump of his tail, Bono smashed the magnetic door locking system and pushed his way into the spacious living room of Nagini's private quarters. It took Bono no time at all to pinpoint Nagini's exact position. She remained relaxed, all fifteen feet of her coiled tightly near the large window overlooking the main street. Her head came up and her red eyes met Bono's. It was a peculiar sight to behold, the two snakes locking gazes. They held each other captive in those gazes for a long time, both of them exerting their superior legilimantic powers in an attempt to best one another. Unsurprisingly, neither gained any ground that way.

If Nagini were a normal snake, Bono would have been able to destroy her without breaking a sweat. However, this dark creature before him was far from normal. She uncoiled herself and moved toward him with a Slytherin grace that was bedeviling. For the first time, Bono entertained the possibility that he might lose.

At the stroke of ten, Harry descended the lift to the Ministry atrium. He compulsively toggled between checking his watch and glancing out at the horizon where Technoparc stood. Bono had seemed all too casual about his confrontation with Nagini and it worried him. It would not do to underestimate Voldemort's familiar. Still, there was nothing for it. He had to have faith in Bono. It was the least he could do for the creature he had adopted as his second familiar; for the creature that called him his master.

Harry wasn't sure what to make of the quietude that permeated the atrium. That old instinct he once had to rush off in search of his friends was gone now. Whether that was because he had faith in their abilities to survive or because he felt they were responsible for the costs of the burdens they chose to incur, he did not know. He had his part to play, just as they had theirs.

Not even having completed his first step, Harry felt the onset of the oppressive tingle of dark magic that pooled around the Dark Lord. He was not far. Distantly, he heard the screams of people, though whether it was Phoenix soldiers or Death Eaters he knew not. His senses told him that the Ministry was alive with people locked in combat, but he couldn't make out much, since they were scattered over several floors. Resolving to focus his attention on the Dark Lord, Harry picked his way soundlessly toward where he knew his nemesis was waiting. I'm coming for you, Voldemort, he thought, taking the lift to the sixth floor. To the Minister's private office.

The first thing Harry noticed when he stepped out of the lift was the sheer opulence that permeated every square inch of the open space that opened up before him. At the far end stood the reception desk where, presumably, Scrimgeour's secretary would spend his or her days sitting about doing whatever tasks were assigned to the person of such a station. Scrimgeour himself would be not far away, presumably behind the heavy oak doors that were, to Harry's disgust, adorned with a myriad of precious stones, ranging from emeralds to opals, diamonds and gold. The doors were closed, though that hardly dissuaded him. He knew from the second he stepped onto the floor that the Dark Lord was with him, that he was not far away.

Leaning idly against the desk, and casually burning pages of notes and memos and appointment and call records stood Severus Snape. The former potions master glanced up at the golden boy of Gryffindor and instinctively sneered. "Well, well," he said, not even bothering to snap to attention at the presence of a mortal enemy. "It appears the Chosen One has arrived. I assure you, I am quaking in fear."

"Good evening, Snape," Harry said, continuing to exude an aura of icy calm, which, to a casual passerby, would be mistaken as a tone of complete and utter lack of interest.

If Snape noticed Harry's newfound control over his emotions, he made no show of it. Instead, he just pressed on, "At least you've decided not to hide yourself away and cower, like your mudblood mother. Though I suppose stupidity could hardly be described as a more desirable trait than cowardice. I suppose it's true you do have more of your father in you."

"It's a pleasure to see you again also," Harry replied, still with that same determined calm, a hint of wryness in his voice. "Do the honours and kill me swiftly, won't you?"

"Pah," Snape said, assuming a more formal posture and aiming his wand at Harry. "You're arrogant to the end, Potter. It's fitting you should die that way. As much as I would like to spend time torturing you, perhaps cutting those putrid green eyes out of your head, I have better and more important things to do. As such, I will simply kill you outright. But before I do, I just want you to know that your mangy godfather didn't die by Bellatrix's hand alone. I spent the better part of a year planting suggestions into his dementor-addled mind. He was too good of a dueller to fall prey to her by mere accident. Certainly he had enough practice during his school years. I would know. By the time he made it to the Ministry, he would have been half-drunk with all the suggestions of self-loathing and recklessness that I embedded in his unconscious. It was only fortunate that the dementors had completely vaporized any occlumancy shields he might have once had."

"Were you ever loyal to the Order?" Harry asked, more out of curiosity than anything.

Snape smiled cruelly. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I was. For a time, even after the Dark Lord returned, though loyalty is not exactly the word I would use to describe it. No, it's something else."

Harry nodded to himself, satisfied. "I see. You were simply playing both sides waiting to see who would gain the upper hand. Very Slytherin. Not unlike Pettigrew."

Snape seemed almost taken aback to be paralleled with the quivering rat. But just as quickly, he composed himself and smirked. "Enough of this, Potter. Go join the mutt and the mudblood. Avada kedavra."

With an imperceptible flick of his wand, Harry sent an eight foot long silver javelin hurling from his wand at a speed of two hundred metres per second. Snape barely had time to register surprise as the flying silver weapon absorbed his curse, and continued on its way undeterred. Even as the javelin punched clean through his breastbone and came out the other side so that it was jutting from both ends of his body, his mind was still trying to process how it was that the boy could send a permanently conjured object of such size and shape at such speed with hardly an iota of concentration. Snape would have collapsed to the floor, except that the tip of the javelin had gone far enough that it buried itself into the wood of the reception desk, so that Snape was forced to die standing on his feet.

Harry went up to him and looked into his deep, black eyes, all the while his skin growing paler and paler as blood continued to pour out of the hole in his front and back. Snape seemed to try and say something, but all that came out was a gurgling noise followed by blood and spit, that now dripped down his chin. "It's quite possible that the Dark Lord will win," Harry said in a rather casual tone. "Still, I wonder, Severus. What good will it do you? For a Slytherin, you made a grave miscalculation."

Harry then proceeded to leave Severus there, functionally stapled to the desk as he dripped blood and gastrointestinal juices onto the soft, carpet floor. In an uncharacteristically reserved fashion, Harry opened the large oak doors with a gentleness that belied the battle that was about to commence. Inside, Harry found Voldemort sitting in the Minister's chair, his long legs raised so that his feet were using the desk as a foot rest. He was idly flipping through some internal document when he finally looked up to see Harry standing in the doorway.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," Voldemort said, lowering his legs and standing with one fluid motion, simultaneously extricating his wand from his robes. "It is good to finally see you again."

"Likewise, Tom," Harry said, neither his voice nor his face expressing anything other than the deepest calm.

"Disfugio," said Lord Voldemort.

"Ressendra," replied Harry.

They duelled.

Katie was well aware that there was a huge difference between a Death Eater recruit and a member of the Dark Lord's inner circle. Still, she hadn't imagined that much would get in her way when it came to taking down a jumped up pureblood like Rodolphus. How wrong she was.

It had taken her several long and agonizing seconds to understand how it was that her pistol had no effect on him.

Within a span of three seconds, she had fired off a dozen rounds, smugly watching to see how badly he would be mangled by the volley of bullets. So, it was to her dismay when she realized that not a single one hit its target.

Wordlessly, Rodolphus fired off the cruciatus curse, which clipped Katie in the arm as she twirled out of the way, firing off two more rounds, as she tried to understand how it was that her bullets were missing. She could see that many of them were striking the wall behind her adversary.

A cutting charm slashed across her shin, forcing her to take cover from another dark curse aimed at her lower half. Ten minutes into the battle, she became acutely aware that her foe was not taking a single shot at her torso, which was heavily protected by the flak jackets. Moreover, he was wearing some sort of object that had a powerful repulsion or diversion charm that was insulating him from the bullets by causing them to swerve to either side. Clearly, he had anticipated the PA's strategies. She could only assume that they had overtaken a PA member and had spent the last half hour pumping their victim for information. Katie wondered who the unlucky sod was.

"Imperio," said Rodolphus. Terrified at the thought of being controlled, Katie threw her gun at the spell, deflecting it and firing off a handful of reductor curses, as well as summoning a sneakoscope that bonked Rodolphus on the back of his head. A reductor clipped him in the shoulder, but he hardly seemed to notice, despite the bruising. "Avada kedavra," he said, once more, though Katie, now having gotten to her feet, managed to evade the curse and charm a chair to attack Rodolphus to keep him distracted long enough for her to numb the tingling feeling from where the cruciatus had hit her in the arm and to heal a number of the more serious cuts on her legs and arms.

From across the room, not twenty-five feet away, she could see Luna exchanging heavy fire with Rabastan, using her pistol fire to absorb the unforgiveables and her wand to send off a variety of hexes and curses, creating a multi-coloured light show that was rather awe-inspiring. You go girl, Katie thought, dodging another unforgiveable and summoning a liberal supply of paper clips to intercept the next volley of spells, all the while firing back with the usual jinxes. She managed to hit Rodolphus with the trip jinx, though he recovered before falling down. His momentary lapse did give Katie enough of a chance to slash his heel with a cutting curse, causing a liberal amount of blood to come pouring out of the wound. Rodolphus was up in a flash, his face contorted into a look of fury. He began rattling off curses at high speed, forcing Katie to take cover behind a desk and throw out a protection shield for the steady stream of dark curses that seeped past the desk. He's really pissed off. She managed to slip a reductor curse under the desk and, to her surprise, hit Rodolphus squarely in the shin, causing the bone to break from the impact and sending him sprawling to the floor. Bonus! she thought, jumping to her feet and firing off a stunner. Rodolphus summoned the desk to him, using it as a shield much like Katie had been doing earlier. She quickly took cover behind a bookshelf just as an evisceration curse whizzed by her. Before long, Rodolphus was back on his feet, though now with a pronounced limp, and he was coming for her, slowly pushing the desk in her direction as he decreased the space between them. There was a disturbed, manic glint in his eyes that Katie did not like. Spotting her gun just to the left of him, she had a bright idea. Aiming her wand at it, she said, "Reducto." Rodolphus didn't even bother blocking it, since it wasn't aimed at him. The curse hit the pistol dead on, causing it to explode in a spray of metal shrapnel, much of it reacting volatilely with the numerous enchantments already on the pistol.

"Ergh," Rodolphus managed, grunting and staggering out from behind his makeshift shield. Katie, having a clear shot, sent another stunner at him. He managed to block it, however, and fire off a killing curse that forced her to retreat behind her own desk. Peripherally, she saw that Luna and Rabastan were still duelling fiercely, though now they were a lot closer. Good grief, she thought irritably. Why don't these guys just die already? Of course, she knew the answer to that question. The Lestranges were as hard as they came.

Before too long, they had destroyed each other's defenses, forcing them to move apart to give them more maneuvering room. Katie found herself engaging in something that might have resembled a Spanish dance, as she twirled expertly, jumped, rolled and dived to avoid unforgiveable curses. She fired off a stunner just as a beam of orange light flooded her vision from the side, causing her to instinctively jump backwards, the sizzle of dark magic singing the tip of her nose. She whipped around to see that it had been a stray curse of Rabastan's that had almost done her in. Luna was engaged in a similar macabre dance and they were so close now that whatever spells they were casting that weren't being blocked were spilling into her own duel.

Rodolphus didn't seem to be quite as aware of the collateral spellfire, and instead focused on sending a confundus curse and a cruciatus. Katie threw herself in the way of the former to avoid the latter, much of it dissipating against her flak jacket. She fired off a stunner and a sharp, wooden projectile. The combination was deadly because there were few shields that could block both a magical attack and a physical one. Rodolphus did the sensible thing and summoned a collection of books to take the stunner while sidestepping the wooden stake, to which Katie just smiled. She had heard about Harry's clever use of a summoning charm and a banishment charm to create a boomerang effect when battling a Death Eater at the Leaky Cauldron. The stake flew harmlessly past only to curve around with the use of a summoning charm and come straight back for the Death Eater, who was caught unawares. Still, the task took more of her attention than she had thought it would, and was caught off guard by a cutting hex that sliced open her side. Katie grimaced from the pain and staggered to the side collapsing to one knee as she saw the stake punch clean through her opponent's stomach. He fired off another curse which Katie dodged partly, adding yet another vicious slash to her face. Rodolphus finally seemed to realize he had been mortally wounded and thus gazed down at his insides streaming out from the wound in little rivulets.

"Gotcha, motherfucker," she wheezed, still holding her wand out to cast another curse. They both fired spells which collided with one another in midair, sending one off in the direction of Luna's battle.

Rodolphus tracked the spells with his eyes and seemed to notice Luna gaining the upper hand on his brother. With a malicious smile, he aimed his wand and said, "Avada kedavra." Luna seemed acutely focused on delivering the deathblow to Rabastan and was therefore completely unaware of her impending death. No, Katie thought fiercely, already aware that she was most likely dying from her injured liver, if the black pus-like substance spilling from her body was any indication. The unforgiveables connect through your magic, she remembered Ron saying once, instructing them on proper handling of the curses. As such, she conjured a remote shield to absorb the curse. "Absorbia ex proxima," she managed despite the pain. A translucent pink shield flickered to life next to Luna, who surprised at the sight of it, stopped to look and see as the green light of the killing curse impacted with it. She glanced around and saw Katie's eyes widen as the killing curse disappeared and for a moment, lit up the otherwise invisible string of magic that connected her to her remote shield. And then, in the quarter second it took to travel up that invisible string, it struck home, snuffing out Katie's life and leaving her collapsed on the floor.

Without wasting another moment, Luna put a bullet in Rabastan's head at point blank range. The most powerful diversion or misdirection charm in the world wasn't going to deflect a bullet from that close.

Rabastan's eyes rolled into the back of his head before he pitched forward dead, his wand already having been broken. Luna turned to Rodolphus, who was seething with rage at the loss of his brother. "Bitch," he swore, his brown eyes fixed upon her.

Luna simply cocked her head as if inviting him to take her on, which he did, though it was a futile effort. Having already been impaled and on the cusp of death, he was operating on pure adrenalin, which Luna took advantage of. Given that his mobility had been reduced, Luna took a page out of Harry's book and apparated a nearby book into Rodolphus's head, effectively killing him on the spot. He had no way to dodge and his own internal magical defenses which were supposed to buffer him from that sort of thing were already so heavily depleted from keeping him alive long enough to get revenge that he had no defense from that kind of attack. As such, he died with paper absorbing the blood in his brain.

Luna brushed past him as his body collapsed to the ground. She knelt next to Katie and gently checked her pulse. There was none. Luna was not one for showing emotions and this time was no different. She merely took a moment to gently close Katie's eyes with her fingers and offer a moment of silence for her fallen comrade, before taking Katie's lifeless hand in her own, just as Harry had done in a graveyard so long ago with a fellow classmate. Her gaze still fixed to the sight of Katie's peaceful expression, Luna activated the portkey, causing them to disappear.

Ron realized early on that he was way in over his head with both Hermione and the Colonel. His only hope was that an ally might stumble in upon their battle and open a second front against them.

"Avis patroni," he said, launching a dozen patronus birds into the air, which provided a much needed shield from the multitude of spells approaching him. Simultaneously, he fired off a dozen rounds, only to discover that they were blocked by the erection of a giant granite wall.

"Avada kedavra," said the Colonel, killing off yet another patronus bird. With a wide arc of his wand, Ron conjured a sea of patronus flowers and vines and trees that spread out across the many surfaces of the room. Creepers sprouted over top of the archway as though it were a trellis. The light from the patroni gave the room an eerie, silver glow.

Without breaking stride, Hermione and the Colonel began firing off evisceration and bone shattering curses, which Ron raised a magical shield against. Simultaneously, he fired off more rounds from his pistol, hoping that it would be a sufficient offense. However, Hermione, quickly realizing the weakness of the weapon, hit the Colonel and herself with a trio of deflection spells, including the impervious charm, the diversion charm and the deflection charm, rendering the pistol all but useless. Despite the speed of the bullets, they were driven off course and sent striking the far wall.

Ron tossed himself to one side just as his shield collapsed and, as he hit the ground, cast a pair of cutting hexes, already rolling out of the way as a reductor curse struck the stone floor where he was just moments before. Neither Hermione nor the Colonel had to move much, as they could both rapid fire curses faster than he could. Ron took a bone shattering curse to the chest, but was saved by his flak jacket. He managed to graze the Colonel with a cutting hex on the cheek, but she hardly even flinched.

"Immolatus," said Hermione, waving her wand back and forth and shooting out a wild burst of fire that Ron instinctively doused with a jet of water. A silver arrow nicked his bicep on his wand arm, causing him to jerk to one side just as another past harmlessly by. slowly, he found himself being pushed to the far corner, where he knew he would end up being cornered.

This is ridiculous, he thought grimly, moving around the archway, and casting about for signs of objects he could transfigure or use as a shield. There was nothing and his conjurations sucked. He fired off a beam of raw energy, which Hermione blocked. Again, the two were advancing. Ron tried to fire a curse through the archway, but it disappeared into the veil and did not come out the other side. He wondered if he could somehow trip them up and send them stumbling through the veil, the way Sirius had done years prior.

"Avada kedavra," said the Colonel.

Slowly, they had been clearing away his patroni and were now able to cast dark magic once more. Ron raised a shield to deflect the killing curse, and took a reductor to the chest, again, saved by the flak jacket. He hit himself with the wingardiem leviosa spell, hoping that propelling himself into the air would give him some sort of advantage of surprise. As he felt the weightlessness take hold as he plunged through the air, he fired off a rapid succession of stunners, concentrating on Hermione, hoping to disable her and level the playing field. Needless to say, his aim was a little off and Hermione was fast. Still, he did not hesitate to fire off a streak of high powered stunners in her direction. To his surprise, he managed to clip her on the shoulder, causing her to drop her wand as she was in mid-roll, leaving it scattering to one side. Even as he crashed to the ground, he summoned it, amazed at his fortune. That is, until his brain registered the pain he was in from having twisted his ankle from the fall. He barely managed to roll toward the center of the room as an incendiary hex scorched the stone floor where he had lay just moments earlier. Instinctively, he cast a beam of raw energy, crazily aiming his wand about like a lunatic gunman.

He managed to throw another patronus in the way of a killing curse before he finally succumbed.

"Expelliarmus," said the Colonel, hitting Ron in his wand arm, effectively causing his wand to fly out of his grasp and sail through the air into her waiting hand. Delighted at having stripped him of his wand, the Colonel then said lazily, "Crucio."

Ron raised Hermione's wand in defense and tried to cast a patronus. However, to his horror, nothing came out. He could only assume that her wand had been laced with so much dark magic it had been effectively clogged. In a moment, however, he could conceive of nothing except that all-consuming pain that often came from exposure to the dreaded unforgiveable.

He screamed and writhed about, barely aware that his limbs were kicking at the stone ledge and the stone floor around him, causing even further injuries to himself, as he continued to be tortured. Barely able to make sense of his surroundings, he did manage to note that Hermione had regained her composure and had come to stand next to the Colonel. This is it for you, he thought to himself. You had a good run of it, but now it's time to move on.

Ron Weasley's life, it seemed, was at an end.

Harry's duel with Voldemort had started out simple enough. A killing curse here, a cruciatus there. It became clear soon enough that they were matched relatively well, all things considered. Harry was proving to have a tremendous reservoir of power behind him, to a level that even Voldemort could not claim to have, but he lacked the intimate experience that sixty years of living gave the Dark Lord. It appeared that spending thirteen years as a disembodied spirit did have an upshot.

Much of the Minister's office had been blasted apart, transfigured and conjured objects laying in splintered ruins at their feet. With a stroke of his wand, Harry levitated every piece of metal shrapnel and wood splinter and bit of fluff into the air, creating an asteroid field of debris, which he swiftly transfigured into misshapen iron balls that were suddenly charmed to go zooming around, while simultaneously hitting himself with the impervious charm. A few struck the Dark Lord before he swished his wand, creating a whirlwind that collected the dangerous little instruments and sent them in a focused assault on Harry, who transfigured them all into birds which he promptly sent fluttering back in Voldemort's direction, while sending a cutting curse at his legs and a reductor curse at the ground just before his feet. The three-pronged assault proved too much for Voldemort, and he managed only to slash the birds and deflect the cutting curse. The reductor impacted with enough force that it sent him sprawling to the floor.

This duel was distinctly different from Harry's previous encounter with Voldemort, or, at least, his encounter with an alternate version of Voldemort. Whereas before, he had spent half his time bounding around like a gummy bear high on gummy juice, only managing to survive through his superior agility, now he found that he could call upon enough magic to perform multiple tasks - as many as five or six at a time, often each one formidable in their own right. This afforded him a great deal of latitude. He no longer had to duck and weave and throw himself out of the way of curses. Instead, he could conjure a shield powerful enough to withstand multiple assaults while carrying on an offensive attack.

Voldemort sprang to his feet already casting a volley of powerful dark curses, most of which yielded the same result, whether it be mangled arms, or deep gashes, or shattering bones. Harry waved them away and sent a stunner at Voldemort, who, wary of the sheer power of his adversary, chose to block it with a conjured shield of silver, instead of simply ignoring it as he normally would have done.

"Necritus," said Voldemort, aiming his spell at the carcasses of birds that he had dispatched just moments earlier. Harry meanwhile, summoned the far wall, which creaked and groaned under the force of Harry's command. After a moment, it gave in, large cracks forming in the wall as giant chunks of wood and plaster began to rain down on Voldemort. However, Harry soon found himself defending against the onslaught of a dozen bird zombies that were flying at him and trying to peck out his eyes. "Inflammus," he said, lighting them ablaze and banishing them at Voldemort along with a handful of cutting hexes. Voldemort blew apart the debris that had momentarily buried him, sending large chunks of wood in Harry's direction, much of it impacting with the spells and the flaming bird zombies, which thudded and squelched as they smashed into the flying debris.

Harry continued his assault by summoning a loose piece of debris so that it struck Voldemort in the back of the knees, causing him to fold in on himself. He grunted as he collapsed to the ground yet again, Harry aiming a cutting hex at his feet. Voldemort raised a null field to absorb the curse, but already Harry sent a long silver javelin flying at high speed right at Voldemort, just as he had done with Snape. Likewise, Voldemort was surprised by the expert conjuration, which survived the null field, as it plunged into his arm, Voldemort only managing to get out of its way so that it didn't impale him in the chest. He fired off a pair of killing curses, one aimed just slightly to Harry's left and the second to Harry's right, forcing him to dance out of the way, giving Voldemort enough time to regain his equilibrium, which included banishing the silver javelin and mending his arm.

"This really isn't getting us very far," Harry mused, firing off another pair of spells, which Voldemort simply blocked.

"No, it isn't," he replied, brushing dust off his robes as he sent a jet of flame at Harry, who conjured a shield of blue ice, which he propelled at Voldemort, who took control of it with his wand and sent it flying back at Harry, transfiguring it into a mass of writhing snakes with snapping jaws. Harry hit it with a reductor curse and sent the blood and guts right back at Voldemort, who in turn vanished it. "What do you propose we do about it then?"

Harry shrugged. "I can only imagine that one of us will fail eventually." The two combatants slowly circled one another, keeping their eyes fixed on all the things in their environment. "I just kind of wish we'd get there already."

"You could throw down your wand," Voldemort suggested. "That would get us there rather fast, wouldn't it?"

"It would," Harry agreed. "Would be a bit of a hollow a victory for you, though. And you know I'm not the type to disappoint."

"I assure you, Harry. I would get over it most swiftly." Voldemort conjured a pair of large pythons, which he then disillusioned. However, instead of sending them to attack, he merely instructed them to wait by his side, and Harry got the distinctly uneasy feeling that Voldemort's experience duelling was about to shine through.

Harry flicked a reductor curse at one of them, but Voldemort batted it away.

"You know it makes no difference how many spells you throw at me, just as it appears that it makes no difference how many spells I throw at you. Barring the killing curse, our shields are virtually impregnable."

Harry nodded, still keeping half his attention on the two snakes. "What's your point?"

Voldemort shrugged. "Sorry I was just thinking aloud." He then sent a spell that was clearly meant to go wide, while simultaneously sending two spells in Harry's direction, forcing him to focus his shield on them, leaving the first spell to fly by. Dammit, Harry thought, irritably, wondering just what the hell Voldemort was up to. He let his magical senses wander and felt for whatever it was that was behind him. He did not dare turn his back on Voldemort and the two snakes. That may very well have been what Voldemort wanted.

Harry, having a burst of inspiration, sent a stream of liquid nitrogen at the Dark Lord, who conjured a shield to deflect it. However, he was not aware of the effect that the nitrogen was having on his two snakes, which were being splashed liberally with the toxic substance, causing them to stiffen and writhe weakly about as their internal systems shut down from the exposure to the intense cold. Moreover, ice was forming around the Dark Lord, which Harry hoped he could use to his advantage. He maintained the stream of the liquid nitrogen, aware that it was pooling around Voldemort's feet, and, presumably, freezing them.

However, before Harry could go much further with his plan, he felt the wall behind him explode from the time-delayed explosion hex that Voldemort had crafted. Harry was pitched forward, his face getting planted into the freezing fumes of nitrogen, his internal magical defenses trying to fend off the numbing substance.

Dimly, he felt Voldemort swiftly banishing the remains of the liquid nitrogen and casting a warming charm on his feet, while, simultaneously, sending a killing curse at Harry, who wandlessly summoned a dozen snakes crawling around on top of his body, one of which was the unfortunate recipient of the dreaded curse. He heard Voldemort utter a profane word at Harry's swift makeshift shield, but already Harry felt the sizzle of curses, and he knew that an imperius was cast on one of his snakes, forcing him to roll out of the way and vanish them while sending a flurry of spells at Voldemort, who, surprisingly, absorbed the assault, in order to deliver a nasty cutting hex to Harry's chest, which went wide and simply nicked his arm as he continued to roll and send curses and shields all about.

"Avada kedavra. Avada kedavra." Voldemort, his ire provoked, began sending a flurry of killing curses, which Harry blocked by conjuring a small armada of birds and butterflies that went fluttering about.

Harry picked himself off the floor and took a moment to regain his composure as he stared at Voldemort, who conjured a flame whip and began slashing mercilessly at all the innocent little creatures, many of the birds shrieking in agony as they were burned alive.

Harry proceeded to fire off sharpened projectile instruments, which he was rapidly conjuring. The Dark Lord simply batted them away with his wand, often sending them into the ground or the walls, where they occasionally exploded. Neither of them were quite aware of the magnitude of the damage they were inflicting on the structural integrity of the area. Harry persisted in continuing to discharge the heavy stream of conjured weapons in an attempt to overwhelm the Dark Lord by sheer force. Meanwhile, blades and other sharp instruments were beginning to pile around the room, turning the playground deadly. Voldemort banished a handful of fallen knives at Harry's legs, forcing Harry to redirect part of his attention at his feet in order to bat them to the side.

"Inflammus!" Harry said with a deep sort of intensity, creating a magical fire that exploded in a giant fireball of blazing blue and white light. It was so intense and ferocious, feeding off the ambient magical energy that had aggregated in the room, that it punched through Voldemort's shield and lit him ablaze for a moment, before he shrieked with rage, Harry already sending a handful of daggers at him, as well as two reductor curses at his feet. However, none of Harry's attacks made it to the Dark Lord, for, in a flash, the immeasurably hot flames that were attempting to eat him alive was reflected back in a torus of blazing, golden energy that scalded Harry on its way to the walls, where it seeped into the wood and plaster and, within moments, caused the entire floor to tremble. Apparently, it was the iron bar that broke the camel's back.

Not that either Lord Voldemort or Harry were paying attention. "Evangelo," Harry said, sending an arcing beam of white light at Voldemort, who dodged. The energy from the spell lit the air on fire as it shot past Voldemort whereupon it caused the entire back wall to explode in a shower of plaster and debris, exposing the downtown London street behind.

Voldemort, similarly, sent a beam of black energy at Harry, who erected a shield, causing thick bolts of the black energy to bounce off and smash into the walls and the floor and the ceiling, more dust and debris raining down upon them.

"Eviscero!" hissed Lord Voldemort.

"Antago," replied Harry.

Both spells collided in midair and, at the same time, the magical backlash caused the entire floor to explode, ripping out the walls and blowing them into a fierce whirlwind at which Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter were at the center. The ceiling came crashing down around them, the floor was shredded and melted and burned and was rising up on the currents of magical energy that flowed freely around them.

"Die, Potter," Voldemort said through gritted teeth, and, as though that were a spell in and of itself, another beam of blood red light shone from his wand, bathing Harry in an effervescent red glow that slowly yet inexorably tried to suck the life from Harry's body.

"Ergh," Harry grunted as he willed his magic to stay within him. "No," he responded in outright defiance, and, in response to his unbending will, an emerald green shield formed around him, buffering him from Voldemort's unknown spell.

Neither of them seemed to realize that they were now floating, given that the floor had been completely destroyed. Snape's body and the reception desk had been exploded and sent in all directions, some of it dropping to the floor below, which was coated in magical residue. It was the floor for international magical cooperation, and there were a plethora of desks that were being compressed by the torrents of magical energy spilling freely out of both the combatants above.

"Solaris," said Voldemort.

Unlike most spells, which had the effect of issuing magic from the wand, this spell caused an unfocused flood of searing blue flame to explode from pockets all around them. The desks and the carpeting and the walls that were still intact all caught afire and from them, jets of flame shot out in all directions in a haphazard way, scorching the air, and causing Harry to shift edgily from one side to the other to avoid them. The downside was that Voldemort was forced to do the same.

In response, almost as though he wanted to prove that he could execute similarly powerful spells, Harry said, "Electrificus." And, in a flash of blinding light, the entire room exploded in a fit of electrical energy, dozens of lightning bolts flashing by and causing the far walls and whatever remaining objects that were still intact to either be fried, caught on fire, destroyed utterly or simply picked up by the gale force winds that all the fire and energy were creating and being sent hurtling at high velocity through the room. A magical stapler whacked Harry on the head.

"Fucker," he muttered, rubbing the slight bruise on his crown.

Voldemort used his magic to elevate a hundred flaming objects, some of them weighing over a hundred pounds on their own and he sent them whirling about with the same tornado spell he had used earlier. Harry whirled about in a bid to dodge whatever flaming debris managed to maneuver past his multiple shields.

Harry conjured a disillusioned flock of birds and sent them fluttering through the chaos of zooming objects in a bid to hit Voldemort from the side. He had sent two dozen birds, and, to his relief, one survived the firestorm and managed to peck at Voldemort's hairless head, distracting him for almost half a second before the bird was blown apart by a fierce act of wandless magic. Harry wasted no time in sending a volley of high powered explosion hexes at Voldemort, who erected a hastily made shield that still managed to deflect them all.

Bugger, Harry thought irritably. He fired off his most powerful explosion hex at the floor, causing a giant hole to form in the wake of the violent boom that signalled the destruction of what remained of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Voldemort, meanwhile, conjured a hundred razors and sent them all flying at Harry, who, in a desperate bid to stop the Dark Lord, ignored them completely, giving him the necessary moment to launch an offense. He created a vortex that shot out from the depths of the hole, its point of origin somewhere two floors below them. With enough space, it was able to grow to an enormous side and caught the Dark Lord in it, just as a dozen of the many blades punched into Harry's body, one of them striking with enough force to push all the way through. Absently, he noticed that some of the blades were turning about in midair and coming back for another go, distinctly reminding him of his Quidditch match with the rogue bludger in second year. He smiled, despite the pain, continuing to maintain the vortex, down which Voldemort's wand had fallen. Now, if I only manage not to pass out from blood loss. Harry caught some of the razors with his magic and sent them at Voldemort, who, still spinning about and vomiting from the dizziness, was helpless as they embedded themselves into all his vital organs, including his brain, where a razor was now sticking out of his forehead.

Another razor slashed one of his arms to ribbons, and he was forced to drop the vortex. Voldemort, unsurprisingly, was lucid enough to look directly into Harry's eyes and grit out his name, "Potter." And then, in a surprising show of force, managed to expel all the razors embedded in his body while still floating in midair. The razors disappeared uselessly to the floor below. and, to Harry's further horror, Lord Voldemort's magic seemed to go into overdrive and heal all his wounds, while Harry still floated about bleeding to death.

In less than a minute, the Dark Lord was making his way back to his feet, any evidence of his brush with death non-existent, a translucent black dome insulating him from any of Harry's attacks.

"Avada kedavra," said Harry, firing off the killing curse. However, the green light seemed to just become absorbed by the inky blackness that was swirling around Voldemort, whose eyes were glowing with unrestrained power. "Potter," he rasped, his voice coming out warbly through the thick tendrils of magic that swirled about him. "Potter," he repeated, fear and loathing evident in his voice.

"Tom," Harry said, inclining his head to one side, all the while his mind madly trying to figure out how to penetrate this strange dome that was protecting his mortal enemy. Experimentally, Harry sent one of his birds into the field, and watched with dismay as it exploded in a fit of blood and feathers upon contact with the dome's outermost edge. He cast a giant null field, but the moment the field closed around the Dark Lord, the magical dome spilled magic into the intervening space, effectively flooding the null field and collapsing it. Damn, Harry thought, annoyed that his star weapon proved wholly ineffective.

The Dark Lord tried to come towards Harry, but he only made it a step before he seemed to collapse under his own weight, falling to his knees. Harry took an instinctive step backward and decided to see what would happen if he fired off a continuous stunner. A powerful red jet of light streamed forth from his wand and impacted on the oily surface of Voldemort's last defense, but it seemed to simply be absorbed by the shield, and Harry abruptly cut himself off, realizing that it was quite possible that hitting the thing with magic would simply recharge it. It took Harry a moment to realize that the Dark Lord was not actually casting a spell. His wand, in fact, was, according to Harry's magical sense, a smoldering pile of ash. The shield seemed to be flowing from the Dark Lord's inner core directly, as though Harry had pierced some fundamental veil that had otherwise protected the Dark Lord, letting his aura expand without restraint.

And then it hit Harry, that Bono had succeeded. The last horcrux had fallen.Bono had been successful. And the Dark Lord knew it.

"You're mortal," Harry whispered, awestruck.

Harry's frank assertion of it made Voldemort wail with anguish. "IT CAN'T BE!" he half-shrieked, half-cried. "POTTER!"

"And yet a killing curse still won't kill you," he said aloud, realizing that, even though Voldemort was now terribly weak, even with the multiple injuries he had sustained, his own internal core was so formidable, had been beefed up by so many other transformations that it was refusing to let Voldemort exist unprotected, and was now protecting him with itself. How do you destroy an inner core? he wondered, wishing for the first time in the last eight months that Hermione were there to solve his problem for him. Magical theory wasn't exactly his forte, after all.

How do you overwhelm something which is magically infinite? he asked himself. Easy, something in his mind told him. You overwhelm it with your own magical core. Open yourself up, Harry Potter, and finish him.

As such, Harry put his wand away and stepped right up to the edge of the field. He put both his bloody palms against the outer edge of the shield. He could feel the vibrations of magic reverberating through his own core, almost as though the two were talking to one another, as though they were one and the same, that human flesh and blood and bile were crude barriers between the incredible, universalizing force that was magic.

In a voice that was soft and deadly, with his eyes closed, his magical senses and physical ones momentarily shut down, Harry whispered, "Luminaire." His body began to pulse with an eerie golden white light that slowly crescendoed in intensity. Soon, the Dark Lord would be no more.

During the last seven years, much of it spent inside the walls of Hogwarts, it had become clear to spectators who watched Hermione from the sidelines, that she was a really smart girl. Ron had once gone so far as to describe her brilliance as scary. As such, she was not the type to delude herself when certain facts presented themselves in obvious clarity before her eyes. In a two-on-one duel, it would take superior duelling abilities on the part of the underdog to hold out, let alone best his or her opponents. The fact that Ron made it more than five minutes was rather impressive. He demonstrated superior skill, his wand crackling with energy as he rapid fired multiple spells, as well as a ludicrous capacity to maintain the connection to his core that allowed him to persist without tiring. A memory of Ronald Weasley producing an unusually powerful shield to absorb the Mudblood curse long ago in the Weasley's kitchen flashed across her mind's eye as her body impacted with the cold stone floor. He may not have known how to permanently conjure an object, or enchant things or brew a potion, or understand the differences between theoretical models of magic, but he was magically strong, and he knew how to work with that.

It still made her want to scream to God and heaven about the unfairness of it all. However, she couldn't help but acknowledge the strength, speed, hand-eye coordination, and the sheer ballsiness that it took for him to self-levitate himself at high speed, using a basic first year charm to catapult him into the air and use his chaotic trajectory to catch his opponents off guard.

Hermione groaned as she felt the tingle of an enervate charm wash over her body, affording her enough mindfulness to pick herself off the ground and swipe irritably at the blood dripping down her face from the gash on her cheek where her head had hit a small ledge in the stonework. With the refocusing of her mind to the events at hand, she swiftly narrowed her eyes and whirled about in search of her attacker, noticing only after a moment that her wand had a crack running through it, from which black dementor blood oozed.

The rage that would have normally filled her at the sight of its effective destruction did not present itself. Instead, a determination and a weariness stole over her, as though she had awoken from a great long sleep. Not even bothering to collect it, she instead turned her attention to Weasley, who, despite having bested her with that little trick, had not managed to come out of it victorious over the Malfoy Matriarch. Quite the opposite, she saw. He was flailing about uselessly on the floor, his arms repeatedly banging against the stone as futilely tried to cope with the assault of the cruciatus. For a moment, Hermione looked away, disturbed at the sight of his lean form, his vibrantly red hair oddly complementing the amber light of the curse.

Resigned, she made her way over to the Colonel, letting a bitter smile express itself on her features. Oh how badly you wanted him dead. This is so much better, isn't it? she asked herself, her own mind not quite able to convince itself of the veracity of those words. No, she never truly wanted him dead. She loved him, sort of. Or at least, her love of him was tempered by her hate, her jealousy, her pride. She had always been better than him, gotten higher test scores, took more courses - real ones anyway. But still, at the end of the day, she couldn't bring him down. Not even when she had back up and he was alone. She hadn't wanted to admit it, but his ability to control light magic had disturbed her more than she could describe, which was saying something given her vocabulary. All the feelings of victory, of satisfaction, of self-actualization that she was supposed to have garnered from his defeat had, she realized, been cruelly stripped from her, and it was not taken due to fate, or the Colonel or even the Dark Lord. No, it was taken from Ron himself, who proved without a shadow of a doubt that she didn't deserve to experience those feelings. Even as he lay twitching, the Colonel ending the curse so she could stalk him like predator and prey, even with his death so imminent, she knew she had been beaten. He had beaten her fair and square. Hell, he had done so with the odds stacked against him.

It occurred to Hermione in those few, precious moments that she would never have peace again. She had wanted to prove her superiority to everybody, and had proved it to nobody. Or at least, those who were beaten were also dead, like Crabbe and Lucius. And the ones that really counted, the ones that would have provided the sweetest fruit, like Voldemort and Ron, had shown her up rather harshly, and now Voldemort was her master and Ron was soon to be dead, and she would be left to wander the earth, suffering from a perpetual substitution complex, always searching for another Ronald Weasley to best, never finding one, always licking the boots of a tyrant who would never truly let her off her leash.

How bitter the dark was. How sad and lonely.

"Would you care to have a go?" Narcissa asked. "I know your wandless capabilities are nominal, but I have also seen your dementor hand at work. I imagine it could inflict a kind of pain far more excruciating than any physical curse."

Hermione just looked over at Narcissa for a long time, occasionally flicking her gaze to Ron, who was still shuddering and twitching involuntarily. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a small girl was asking the question, You really picked a Malfoy over a Weasley? Hermione sighed, feeling defeated and just said, "No, go on ahead. I am content to watch."

The Colonel shrugged and merely continued.

That was when Hermione felt it. Something deep. Something electric.

There was a hum in the air, a current, which, through her many dark transformations, she felt attuned to. It was like she had suddenly become a radio receiver, like a current were moving through her, first soft like water and then stinging like static. Hermione looked around confused, trying to figure out where it was coming from. She first glanced at the archway, wondering if perhaps the suffusion of dark magic from the cruciatus was causing it to react in a fundamental way. But she dismissed that thought as the energy intensified, and, like the rise of the desert sun, it crystallized into a distinct point source that was directly overhead - far overhead about a dozen floors or so, and it was pulsing in a way that she understood on some internal level. A glance at Narcissa told her that her ally did not feel it, but, before she even turned to Ron, she knew he was quite aware of it. The energy was dampening the pain curse enough so that Ron could mouth words at her, his ocean blue eyes that she had found herself drifting into on so many warm nights on the Gryffindor common room sofa locking with hers, communicating a silent plea.

And she knew, just as Ron did, why that energy that was flowing in such great abundance was raining down upon them, why they were the only ones who could feel it. Ron intuited it on a visceral level while Hermione had read about the phenomenon in a book.

It was Harry. In the back of her mind, she knew that it could only mean one thing. He was destroying the Dark Lord once and for all. He was letting his inner core shine through decompressed in all its glory, its life essence flowing freely in all directions, sweeping through the Ministry - hell, probably all of London. So magnificent was it, so like phoenix song that it seemed to awaken Hermione, to give her strength, to tear down the meager occlumancy walls that she had used to distill and disconnect all the memories of the golden trio over the last seven years.

That strange energy that was sweeping down from above intensified so much that Narcissa cocked her head as if listening to it. Pinpricks of light, like drops of water lit aflame twinkled down over them, each one stabbing into the darkness with which she had unwittingly entombed herself.

Something fundamental broke in her, and, with typical Gryffindor thoughtlessness, she whirled on Narcissa. She grabbed her wand arm and yanked it up, causing the curse to lift literally and shoot off in a spray of sparks in the distance, the intense energy of the cruciatus, one of the most wretched curses ever to be created, spewed about into the wide open air.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!" Narcissa screeched, unable to close off the energy that was now being forcibly left open through Hermione's tight grip on her arm. Narcissa flailed about, but Hermione possessed inhuman strength and was not averse to using it. Hermione simply let the dark energy diffuse into the room, thickening the air with the acrid taste of dark magic. Narcissa continued to beat futilely against Hermione's vice like grip, going so far as to try and swat at her face to no avail. They locked gazes for a moment, fear and loathing on Narcissa's pale white face, malignant glee in Hermione's. After what seemed like a lifetime, the magic petered out, though not because Narcissa had run dry of magic, or because her wand had been destroyed, though it was smoking a little bit. No it petered out because the rush of uncontrolled dark magic burnt her hand to a crisp, which flaked away like charred phyllo pastry and scattered to the floor, the Colonel's face screwed into a look of pure agony.

Hermione let Narcissa's unconscious body crumple to the ground uselessly as she herself staggered back to reclaim her lost balance. She felt drunk with dark energy, as though she had just siphoned off enough to poison even Albus Dumbledore.

Before she knew it, her legs had tumbled her near to the center of the room so that she crashed against the veil, her arms thrown out to it to hold her up. Vaguely, she was aware of Ron struggling to his knees and only barely making it. Given the duration of his torture under the curse, she wondered how much nerve damage he had suffered. No more catapulting stunts for you, Ron, she thought, a fatigue stealing over her as she thought of the life they could have had. She had no doubt in her mind that reparations could have been made, forgiveness dealt, life lived happily ever after.

She heard her ex-boyfriend, the one she had pined after for the better part of her Hogwarts career call out to her, using the nicknames he had invented for her, his voice barely audible his voice scratched up like an abused record album. Yes, he would forgive her all too easily. She knew it, because she knew that it was what light wizards did, and Ron was the paragon of the light.

A deep shame filled her, filled in all the vacancies that her burning drive to prove herself had once filled. It made her shake with the knowledge of her own compromises.

She felt Ron struggling to make his way to her, to hold her, comfort her, do all the things that he had done before, as though the chasm she had driven between them had never existed. They had aged a decade in the last year. She could not go back.

"Mione," Ron managed, crawling unsteadily toward her.

"No!" she cried, seeing that he was so close. Your touch will burn me. "She pulled back instinctively, "Stay away!" The hard edge in her voice shattered with these words and she resorted to begging in a broken voice, "Please... Ron."

"I won't," he replied, firm in his knowledge on what was right and what was wrong.

"No," she said, even more feebly than before, as if all the energy had been drained from her. "I'm not anything. I'm not anything. I can't be here. I can't stay."

"Hermione, please," Ron said, picking himself off the ground, his wand still a dozen feet away."You don't know what it's like," she choked out, looking up at his blue eyes. "I was never good enough for you."

"That's not true," he countered instantly, taking a tentative step forward.

Hermione seemed to regain a bit of her strength at his words, for she smiled, the lone tear she had managed to shed not being accompanied by any others. "You were always so strong. You felt your way through everything, Ronald Weasley. You felt it with your heart, and it made you great."

"I've always needed you, Hermione," he said softly.

"Not this past year, you haven't," she said again in that small voice.

"Especially this past year." Ron took another step forward, but this time, Hermione seemed to notice for she glanced downward and then frowned slightly.

"No, you didn't. You've done great things without me. You shine like a beacon." She sniffed. "I used to think that you would hold me back. That if I were with you, I wouldn't be able to achieve my dreams, to fulfill my potential. I left you, because I thought I could go do great things, start the world over, even." She laughed at this, as though there were a joke somewhere in her words. "But you know," she went on, her voice tinged with self-loathing, "I was so wrong. It wasn't you who was holding me back. It was me who was holding you. I was the weak one. I was the one who didn't understand things."

"That's not true," Ron said carefully, aware all of a sudden that he was, for all intents and purposes, talking to somebody who was giving serious thought to jumping off the roof of a really tall building. "You helped me in so many ways. It was your voice inside my head that told me to grow up, to take responsibility. I'm only now what I am because of you, Hermione Granger."

Hermione listened to his words, but she did not hear them. She just smiled again and looked into his intensely soft blue eyes. "I loved you and I tried to kill you. I'm glad you're better than me Ron." And, with that, Hermione whirled about with feline grace and crossed the threshold of the veil, only to disappear from view.

"NO!" Ron shouted, his eyes widening, one hand reaching out as if to clutch her, or summon her back. But there was nothing for it. Hermione Granger was gone.

No, Ron thought fiercely in his mind's eye. No, no, no. Again acting on impulses that he did not understand, Ron took a moment to fix his eyes on the point of infinity, somewhere where ordinary sight could not go, his heart and mind awash with so many memories of longing, of pining. With the same quick, decisive moves that carried Hermione through, so did Ron cross that dreaded barrier between life and death, to go in search of her.

At the same time that Ronald Weasley was rushing headlong through the veil, The golden white, burning energy radiating off Harry James Potter was moving like a shockwave through all the upper layers of the Ministry, causing deep cracks to form in the walls, the floors the ceilings, the golden energy of his inner core slowly and inexorably subsuming the tar-like substance of Voldemort's core. At the same time, the remnants of the PA who were still at the Ministry had gathered together, some limping, others wheezing.

"How many we got left?" Neville asked, the invisibility potion having worn off. Seven of them were crammed into one lift, another seven in the neighbouring lift as they climbed to the atrium level.

"Fourteen," Terry said, leaning against the wall for support. "I think there's five back at Hogwarts."

"Which means we've lost nine," said Susan, pursing her lips.

The seven remained silent, the knowledge of their nine dead comrades making them wonder just who was alive and who wasn't.

"Do we know if the Dark Lord has fallen?" Sue asked.

Terry shook his head. "No bloody clue. Figure he isn't, since I imagine he'd be the only one brash enough to actually try and destroy the Ministry." They were all too aware of the significance of the deep vibrations that were rumbling through every brick of the building. It was only a matter of time before it came down. Something about the energy flowing through the building had destroyed their portkeys, and now they were simply trying to make it to the apparation point to escape.

"You're wrong," said Neville with unusual conviction. "The Dark Lord is no more. Or at least, he shortly will be."

"How do you know?" Collin asked, turning a questioning gaze to the eldest Gryffindor.

"Because I can feel it," Neville said simply, speaking with such certainty that nobody in the lift refuted it. "I can feel Harry. He is destroying him. One molecule at a time."

The lift came to a halt with the tinkling of a bell. For a moment, the doors did not open, and the seven soldiers gave each other a quick glance, before drawing their weapons. It was rather a good thing, because, when the doors opened, they all became acutely aware of the rumbling of what looked like a sea of werewolves all crouching in the atrium, all of them with their amber eyes watching.

"Er," said Susan, unable to continue as her breath hitched at the sight of the army of dark creatures.

"Holy fuck," whispered Collin, his eyes locking momentarily with one of the werewolves at the front of the line.

"We are so screwed," said Terry, his mind racing with all the possible solutions to the problem. All zero of them.

"I guess this is where we go down fighting," Sue said, nervously biting her lower lip, clearly not relishing the prospect of being overwhelmed and eventually mauled.

"Hold on," Neville commanded gently, raising one hand to keep them from firing. "They don't seem to be attacking."

Strangely enough, it seemed to be true. As the seven of them stared out at the sea of creatures, absently aware that there must be another seven coming up in the neighbouring lift, they realized that none of the creatures had made a move. None of them were agitated by the bloodlust that otherwise characterized the werewolf. True to his house, Neville bravely stepped forward, his gun only partly lowered, ready to be used at a moment's notice. Even now that he was a mere three feet from the nearest wolf, it did not move to pounce, instead electing to watch Neville curiously through its slitted eyes for a moment before returning to listen to the sound of some unknown rhythm, or to await the return of its master.

Neville tentatively walked over to the next lift and peered inside. He found to his dismay, seven pale and drawn faces, a gaggle of Huffelpuffs clinging to one another for dear life, one of them clearly having wet his pants. Neville shook his head and said calmly, "They smell fear, you know." This comment clearly wasn't the right thing to say, because the seven soldiers of the Phoenix Army compacted themselves into an even more tightly knit ball of terrified bodies. Neville just sighed. He had no clue what was wrong with the werewolves, but he decided he didn't really care. They weren't attacking at the moment, and that was good enough for him. Terry, Sue, Susan Collin and the others from his lift walked by, pistols still pointed menacingly at the wolves, who remained utterly disconnected from the events and people around them. Gently, Neville took Hannah Abbott's hand and guided her and the other six members of the lift into the atrium and led them to the apparation point, where they were finally able to disappear with the customary popping sounds. Neville chose to stay just a moment longer to gaze out at the hundred and some creatures, all still unmoving. Just as he could feel the thrum of Harry's magic pervading every square inch of the building, he also knew that these creatures had come here for some greater reason. He supposed it might have been because of Harry, but he suspected that it was more to do with Hermione. He suspected that, on that night, not only had the Dark Lord been defeated, but so had the Dark One. It simply remained to be seen whether Hermione Granger would have survived the process.

Neville apparated away. Mission successful.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The Wind Up

It was a curious thing. The second war had, for the most part, crept up on the inhabitants of wizarding Britain while they slept, went about their daily routine - while they squabbled over petty things; while new mothers sang their children to sleep in little nurseries, while orphans lay restlessly under the watchful moon, errantly trying to brush away the interminable feel of the cold beds of their respective orphanages. Unlike the first war, which had spanned more than a decade, a war where Tom Riddle and his pureblood followers had to spend a great deal of time pillaging and destroying just to earn the fear that would cause people to quake in their boots at the mere mention of them, the second war seemed to magically appear out of thin air. It was a shocking thing, because people had been expected to comprehend the transformation of their peaceful reprieve back into that horrible nightmare that had been the seventies. Lord Voldemort had been quickly able to marshal an army of dark creatures and the wizarding elite, and had quickly terrorized magical and muggle folk alike, and had done so for exactly two years - two brutal, pain filled, despairing years in which the full horror of the last days of Lord Voldemort's power had been realized once more. And then, on June 15, 1997, that great terror, the violent deaths, the omnipresence of dark magic in the air, all of it was snuffed out in a flash, leaving only the wreckage of human life and shattered urban streets.

using the same fluid stealth that the PA had used to come together, it shortly disbanded, its surviving members retreating into the shadows, melting away through the walls of Hogwarts, through underground passages, Neville Longbottom, Terry Boot, Luna Lovegood, Collin Creeley, Susan Bones, Hannah Abbot and others, all returning to their ordinary lives, transforming like butterflies back into caterpillars.

They held a secret funeral, sent secret letters to the families of the dead, made secret oaths.

"If ever the Dark looms once more," Neville said in a quiet voice that dripped with restrained magic, the kind of special power that saved infant Harry's life on Halloween, 1981, "then let us return. Let us come together and stand against it."

Each one of the nineteen phoenix soldiers nodded gravely, their somber faces stained crimson by the light of the setting sun.

"Do you, Mandy Brockelhurst, swear to uphold the mantel of the light, to come to the aid of your fellow soldiers in his or her time of need?"

"I swear," said she.

Feeling the sincerity in her voice, in her rigid posture, Neville touched the tip of his wand to her heart, where a gentle tingle formed between them. "Go then."

Mandy nodded and slipped away, Sue Lee coming forward and taking her place. Neville, the near-squib, repeated the procedure, binding each soldier in turn with the same process, linking each one through the ancient magic that had given them strength to fight and succeed over the last eight months.

As each surviving soldier was honoured and brought into the fold of the PA, bound together time immemorial, each one slipped away into shadow, disappearing from view, leaving Hogwarts, returning to their cocoon out there in the wizarding world. All except five of them.

Luna, Neville Sue Lee, Susan Bones and Terry Boot remained to watch the sun complete its descent behind the horizon on the longest day of the year. slowly it went, each of them lost in a sea of memories, careful to make sure that their memories, of the second war came to a proper conclusion. To make sure that the dead were firmly settled in their place.

It was a testament to what they endured that none of them cried, though whether that was a good thing or a bad thing remained to be seen. It was almost as though there was too much to cry over.

Darkness fell, the night sky deepening to a dark blue, sprinkled with stars that were disappearing under the coming clouds. A storm approached. The halls of Hogwarts were steeped in quietude, broken by early the next morning with the crack of thunder, and the unceasing fall of rain.

By then, the remaining five had left.

Not a single person in the PA had asked about Harry Potter after Neville's assertion on the night of June 15, the night where Neville declared that the Dark Lord's death was imminent. Such was their faith in the Gryffindor.

Harry was content with that. Whatever it was that the PA had done, whatever war they'd waged; he had decided that it wasn't really his business. He wasn't a leader, and he wasn't a paragon of virtue. He didn't actually know what he was, and he was fine with that too. He was even fine with the complete destruction of the Ministry, a feat so utterly great and terrifying that people were hard pressed to believe a mere boy of seventeen could have achieved it. Still, he had done it nevertheless, and for no good reason he could think of, other than the fact that it felt good to let his magic open up like that. He now understood why only a handful of witches and wizards over the millennia were capable of executing the seventh and final spell of the Fidelius. Most people would simply spontaneously combust if they tried.

Harry found that he didn't even really care all that much about the fallen soldiers, like Katie Bell, or, at least, he could only drum up the sort of vague pity that people had for the tragedies of others. Again, it wasn't his problem. The deaths of Ron and Hermione were different, however. For a brief moment during his execution of the Luminaire spell, he had felt them somewhere deep below him. His magic had touched them, and in turn their magics had touched him. It was as though they had been reunited one last time, and he felt the distinctiveness that marked the presence of the golden trio manifest itself, flood him, fill him with the warm memories of days passed in front of the common room fireplace, imaginative predictions of his death transcribed for scrutiny by batty old Trelawney, pages of Hermione's arithmancy equations scattered about. He had felt the taste of butterbeer on his tongue, like fine wine, his friends staring across that great chasm, staring at him, as though they were sitting no farther than a few feet, as though they were all together at the Three Broomsticks.

It had been sweet in its intensity and bitter with its transience.

And now, once more, they were gone. Not dead, exactly, but not in Kansas anymore either. He found himself mourning their loss.

He watched the sun rise in the east, the slow trickle of people moving through the streets of downtown London, their collective presence breathing life into the architecture. He continued to sip from a wax cup filled with lemon ginger tea. Soon, he would go home, hold Minnie, tell her sweet things. Maybe he would make love to her, maybe they would go to a park and walk around, enjoy the sight of children playing hide and seek, or tag or some other game that children played. He had all the time in the world, it seemed.

Tossing a five on the table, he stood and walked out of the little cafe and lost himself in the throng of muggles.

THE END

A/N: Hi all,

sorry for the delay. My laptop bugged out on me and it had to be shipped to a far off place (by camel, apparently - if the transit time is any indication), and I only had it returned to me last week, wherein I was busy steeping in the library.

Ah well, I doubt anyone out there really cares, so long as it gets posted eventually, which, if you're reading this, you'll know that it is. Enjoy, and, now that you've reached the end, do please feel free to drop a review and let me know what you think. I'm partial to the thumbs system, but if you want to rate me on the stars or the 10 point system (or, God forbid, a letter grade, because clearly I don't have nightmares about those as it is), then you can do that as well.

As always, thanks to everyone who reviewed. I suppose I should thank people who didn't review also (only slightly though), because you did boost the numbers on my hit counter and that does give me a nice feeling too (again, only slightly). The real utility's in the reviews.

Thanks to everyone for putting up with my atrocious spelling. I have no doubt it was a bit of an eyesore, as more than one person elected to point it out. I wish I could claim that English wasn't my first language, but alas I can't. The simple fact is that I'm constructively illiterate. I'm still coming to term's with that.

Some thoughts about the story:

I hope nobody's too disappointed with the ending. I don't think there was anything in there that you couldn't see coming from a mile away. I actually felt that the true climax of the story was Harry's battle with Voldemort in the AU, and that everything that occurs after his return is part of the denouement.

I suppose there's a few loose ends that I never cleared up. Ginny, for example. She shows up in one chapter and then promptly disappears, never to be seen or heard from again. Her chapter's basically an info dump, but hopefully it's an enjoyable one.

Looking back, the story's fairly conservative. There's a distinct lack of , and there's a distinct lack of a strong female lead. The story also tends to revel in gratuitous and gruesome violence.

Writing humour has always been rather foreign to me, though I attempted it in this story. I am curious to know if I succeeded at all.

I know very little about guns. It just happens that I'm fond of guns and sorcery type fiction. I did some cursory research on-line, but I have no clue how well I integrated it into my story. shrug Hopefully, my ignorance in the area wasn't so egregious as to drive people away. (Certainly not if you made it this far).

I could probably go on, but it's not really necessary. I think I'm just suffering from completion anxieties, or something. I should probably just say good-bye and be done with it.

All right.

Here goes.

Good-bye.


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